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THE BOOK OF EASTER 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



p^ v 



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Copyright, 19x0, 
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1910. 



Norrjjjwp 1$vtZZ 

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Norwood, *Mess., U.S.A. 



®CI A259087 






INTRODUCTION 

/^\UR "Book of Easter" is constructed along the suc- 
^-^ cessive lines of the table of contents: " Before the 
Dawn"; "Easter Days"; "Easter Hymns." 

I. There can be no truer instance of the darkest hour 
before the dawn than the dreariness and distress of the 
first so-called "Good Friday." What the two disciples 
said to the Master as they walked to Emmaus on the night 
of Easter Day tells the story: "We trusted that it had been 
He that should have redeemed Israel " ; and still more, the 
cry of the broken-hearted Magdalen uttered in the ear of 
the yet undetected and undiscovered Christ, "They have 
taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid 
Him." There was some reason then, as there is not now, 
for the utterly dreary and hopeless feeling about death; 
and the death of such an one as Jesus Christ was, to those 
who loved Him and knew Him, had in it every element of 
desolation and disconsolateness, — the darkest of midnight 
hours; but it was very early in the morning that Easter 
light and hope were to dawn. 

II. The Scripture story of Easter needs careful study 
to avoid confusion that seems almost at times to be con- 
tradiction. Really and truly, it grows out of the piling 
up, from different sources and from different points of 
view, of the tremendous mass of accumulated evidence 
which proves the Easter story absolutely true. And it 
certainly must be borne in mind that the reading is not 



vi Introduction 

complete until St. Paul's argument and witness are added 
to the Gospel story. The tremendous reality which in 
the first place satisfied the intimate affection of St. John 
and St. Mary of Magdala, and then arrested and converted 
the ingrained and intense hostility of Saul, has in it a wit- 
ness of its power. 

III. The Easter hymns and carols set themselves and 
sing themselves to joyous and triumphant tunes. The an- 
alogies in nature, read as we read them since Easter Day, 
are prophecies and parables of the great Easter fact. The 
poets of the older time used these analogies as meaning 
that, while springtime brought life to the withered flowers, 
that they should rise again to the fragrance of a new life, 
the buried man — St. Paul did not hesitate to say the 
planted man — had no resurrection. 

Nothing is so natural, so usual, so universal, so inevitable 
and so irresistible, so indefinable and so inexplicable, as 
Easter, or that for which it stands, coming from the old 
Saxon oster> rising. The book of Easter is written every 
spring over all the earth, in greening grass and budding 
trees and springing flowers, and the carol of Easter is the 
song of the home-coming birds. As a word it has not a 
rightful place anywhere in Holy Scripture, the word in the 
original which it pretends to translate being pascha; 
but the feast is of immemorial observance in the Christian 
Church, and through it, without canon or enactment of 
any sort, the first day became, instead of the seventh, the 
day of the week to be kept holy, and the Lord's Day became 
the substitute for the Jewish Sabbath. 

Of course there is no such universal appeal about the 
keeping of Easter as about the keeping of Christmas; 
but it has been growing and spreading in its observance for 



Introduction vii 

many years, until now it is kept quite as much in certain 
ways by the great Protestant churches, who used to ignore 
it, as by the Roman Catholics and the Episcopalians. This 
may be explained on many grounds, but it must be recog- 
nized that but for Easter, Christmas would have been an 
empty unreality. If the manger cradle had emptied itself 
into the garden tomb, with either its stone unmoved or its 
seal unbroken, or with no evidence from its opened mouth 
that the body which had lain in it had risen in a recogniz- 
able reality, the cradle would have been forgotten, and 
Christmas would have been an unknown and unkept feast. 
There is a certain element, too, of personality and 
picturesqueness about Christmas which is more or less 
lacking in our keeping of Easter; and the personality is 
that of a little Baby, which lays instant hold on the heart of 
humanity. In this point specially we realize that while 
angels heralded the birth of the little Baby and brought the 
shepherds to the stable, while the new star lighted itself 
in the sky to lead the wise men to the Holy Child, there was 
no announcement or outward visible sign of the actual 
rising ; but silently and secretly, just before the day broke, 
with no mortal eye to see and no witness to describe, He 
rose again from the dead. And it was only known by the 
fact that when the watchers came to bring the embalming 
spices, the stone was rolled away and the tomb was empty, 
and the angel message was, "He is not here: He is risen." 
One dislikes the element of fashionable frivolity which 
has come to mark some people's keeping of the Easter 
feast; but, apart from- that, as the city shops and streets 
break out into fragrant and beautiful bloom, one realizes 
the close kinship between heavenly and spiritual things and 
things material and earthly. 



viii Introduction 

Like the book of Christmas, the book of Easter has 
in it the element of mystery and marvel. The Christmas 
mystery is defined in the Creed and explained, " conceived 
by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary." The 
Easter mystery is denned, but unexplained, in just a short, 
strong, simple assertion, "The third day He rose again from 
the dead"; and this tremendous fact, on which the truth 
of Christianity as a religion depends, has as its corollary "I 
believe in the resurrection of the body. I look for the resur- 
rection of the dead." They are statements of two very 
widely different facts. 

We manufacture most of our difficulties about believing 
in the resurrection of the body, because our minds are so 
material that we attach a false meaning to words. The body 
means to us this composite creation of bone and muscle, 
flesh and blood, with all its aches and pains. This is not the 
body that shall rise again. This has not in it the possi- 
bility of the resurrection from the dead that we look for. 
It would not be a resurrection from the dead, because 
it is a body of mortality which has in it the possibility and 
the necessity of dying. God is not saving up and storing 
the dust, that He may collect out of it and put together again 
bones and sinews and muscles and bits of flesh. Resur- 
rection means the coming back to the immortal life of the 
collective personality, with all its physical faculties and 
attributes, having shed its mere fleshiness; as a grain of 
corn sheds its hard shell, a butterfly its chrysalis, a silk- 
worm its cocoon, and a bird its discarded egg, to be no more 
chrysalis or shell or cocoon or egg, but to be that for which 
these were but temporary coverings, the true life being all 
the while within. This is the resurrection of mercy; the 
other would be only the resurrection of misery. 



Introduction ix 

And this is not miraculous — to use a foolish word that 
only means a wonder, — because there is no wonder about 
it; nor is it supernatural, — to use a still more foolish 
word, — because we do not know the " metes and bounds" 
of nature and cannot say, therefore, what lies beyond them. 
It is perfectly natural. Every planted thing that has in it a 
germ of life must come to life again. It is almost the law 
of life that it comes after and through and by means of 
death. That very living and enlivening thing which has a 
touch of Easter in its name, yeast, is produced by fermenta- 
tion, and fermentation is a process of decay. 

St. Paul asserts these two truths in the strong and stir- 
ring words of his argument to the Corinthians: "Thou 1 
fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it 
die"; and, "Thou sowest not that body which shall be, 
but bare grain, . . . but God giveth it a body as it hath 
pleased Him and to every ^eed his own body." 

So much for our future and final Easter; but the Lord 
Christ's Easter was very different from this. It has in it 
the miracle, the wonder, the mystery, not in its fact 
but in its manner, because He laid aside, rejected and 
discarded, the means by which most dead and buried 
things come back to life. He rose again in the identical 
body in which He had lived and died on earth. One can- 
not go behind the plain reiterated statement of this without 
denying the Gospels and discrediting Christ. Like many 
other things, the credulity of unbelief makes and accepts 
far more incredible things than are demanded of intelli- 
gent faith. This would make the manhood of Christ to 
have consisted only of His human soul. It would leave the 
body in which the soul dwelt for thirty years unaccounted 

1 i Cor. xv. 



x Introduction 

for, or it would make the body in which our Lord was on 
earth for forty days an apparition. " Behold and see," our 
Lord said, "that it is I myself. Handle me and see, for a 
spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have." 

That all this is difficult to define and impossible to ex- 
plain means nothing except that it is a mystery; but some- 
how or other the actual, identical, physical reality, the hands 
and the feet and the wounds and the voice and the words 
and the habits, whether reconcilable or not, must be taken 
as true; while at the same time the tomb was empty and 
the old preresurrection body was not there. In this sense 
of absolute sameness, with what St. Gregory calls "a subtle 
sublimation," we believe that our Lord rose again from the 
dead on the third day. 

Bishop Westcott speaks of the " mysterious awfulness 
about His Person which first inspires fear and then claims 
adoration." "Thus Christ is seen to be changed, but 
none the less He is also seen to be essentially the same. 
Nothing has been left in the grave though all has been 
transfigured. He is the same, so that the marks of the 
Passion can become sensibly present to the doubting 
Thomas; the same, so that He can eat of the broiled fish 
which the disciples had prepared; the same, so that one 
word spoken with the old accent makes Him known to the 
weeping Magdalene; the same, so that above all expecta- 
tion, and against the evidence of death, the Apostles could 
proclaim to the world that He who suffered upon the cross 
had indeed redeemed Israel ; the same, in patience, in ten- 
derness, in chastening reproof, in watchful sympathy, in 
quickening love." And this is the mystery, the marvel, 
the truth, the triumph, the greatness and the glory of 
Easter. 



Introduction xi 

There are some few perfectly simple, plain, practical, 
positive lessons which grow out of it. For instance, our 
own lives ought to be the lives of people who, having died 
to sin, have risen to righteousness, the same in character, 
only lifted up to new heights of dignity and duty. And 
the picture of the great forty days, during which our Lord 
remained on earth between the Resurrection and the Ascen- 
sion, presents to us what ought to be the portrait of every 
life, whether it is of the man converted from sin, or of the 
child, growing from the beginning grace of its regeneration, 
through sanctiflcation, to conformity with the likeness of 
our risen Lord. 

Wm. Croswell Doane. 



CONTENTS 



Introduction 



PAGE 

William Croswell Doane v 



BEFORE THE DAWN 

How the Ancients thought of Death 
There is Hope of a Tree . . From the Book of Job 
I said, I shall not see the Lord From the Book of Hezekiah 
Wonders are Many . From Sophocles' "Antigone" 

The Eleusinian Mysteries and Later Outgrowths Anonymous 

The Dead Pan . 

Dies Irae . 

The Crucifixion 

Stabat Mater Dolorosa 

Christ Crucified 

To keep a True Lent 

Old Good Friday Customs 

Hot Cross Buns 

Chelsea Bun-houses 

The Clear Spring Dawn is Breaking 

Hanging Judas in Mexico 

The Processions of Passion Week in Seville 

Katharine Lee Bates 

In the Sistine Chapel .... Hans Andersen 



Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Trans, by William T. Irons 

-+ From the Fourth Gospel 

Jacopone da Todi 

Alfred Noyes 

. Robert Her rick 

. Folk Lore 



C. 



William Hone 

. Eliza Cook 
Brvson- Taylor 



5 

5 

6 

6 

9 

13 

l S 

17 

19 

20 
21 

22 
23 
25 

26 
41 



. II 

EASTER DAYS 



The Resurrection 

The Primitive Easter Play 



From the Fourth. Gospel 49 
. Katharine Lee Bates 51 



XIV 



Contents 



The Passion Play at Oberammergau . , Canon Farrar 
Quaint Easter Customs 

The Easter Sepulchre ...... Compiled 

Easter Eve Barnabe Googe 

Easter Eggs Emilianne 

The F8te of the Eggs, France . . The Mirror 

The Easter Hare Anonymous 

Customs of Easter Week . Brand's " Antiquities " 
The Bells of the Kremlin . . . . A.J. C. Hare 
Easter in Jerusalem, 1835 • • • A. W. Kinglake 

In Rome under the Old Papal Regime . Lady Butler 
Easter in Greece .... Theodore 7\ Bent 
When the Dead return in Japan Mary Crawford Fr as er 
Egg-rolling in Washington . . . Anonymous 

On the Island of Ischia .... Sybil Fitzgerald 
The Russian Easter . . . The Saturday Review 



PAGE 

54 

64 
66 
67 
68 
69 
7i 
73 
75 
84 

87 
9i 
93 
95 
97 



III 



EASTER HYMNS 



An Easter Carol 
Lord of the Living . 

Risen 

Jesus Christ is risen To-day 
The Strife is O'er, the Battle Done 
Through the Long Hidden Years 
Eastertide .... 

Christ is Risen ! lift the Song 

Trans, of an Old Latin Hymn 1 12 
The World Itself keeps Easter Day . John Mason Neale 113 
Ye Happy Bells of Easter Day . Adapted by R. R. Chope 115 
Christ the Lord is risen To-day . . Charles Wesley 116 
Morn's Roseate Hues .... William Cooke 117 
Easter Week Charles Kingsley 1 18 



William Croswell Doane 105 
William Croswell Doane 106 
Frederick L. Hostner 107 
. L.yra Davidica 108 
Francis Pott 109 
W. Chatter ton Dix 1 10 
Archer T. Gurney no 



Contents 



xv 



The Tempest Over and Gone 
Easter Carol 



PAGE 

Christina G. Rossetti 119 
G'eorge A r . Lovejoy 120 



IV 

EASTER STORIES 
The Myth of Demeter and Persephone 



The Odour of the Ointment 

Easter Eggs 

Easter Eve 

The Ballad of Judas Iscariot 

The Easter Vision 



Walter Pater 125 

. Zona Gale 136 

Christoph Schmidt 157 

. Vladimir Korolenko 175 

Robert Buchanan 184 

Hamilton Wright Mabie 188 



V 



GOLDEN TRUMPETS 



Easter Music 

Surprise .... 

A Violet .... 

An Easter Lily . 

Blessing the Fields 

The Roman Ambarvalia 
Rogation Days in France 
Blessing the Fields in Italy 

The Eternal Spring . 

An Easter Love Song 

The Spring Chorus . 

April 

Little Boy Blue 

An Old-fashioned Spring 

Spring 

In Springtide . 

The Easter Robin 



Margaret D s eland 197 

. Maltbie D. Babcock 197 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 198 

Charles G. D. Roberts 199 

Walter Pater 199 
. . C. L.-S. 203 
Una Duff Gordon 205 
John Milton 208 
. Ella Higginson 208 
A. G. Swinburne 209 
Robert Browning 210 
Alfred Noyes 211 
E. P. Powell 212 
Alfred Tennyson 215 
Lewis Morris 216 
Alexander E. Chamberlain 217 



XVI 



Contents 



A Group of Spring Songs 
A Song of Waking 
What Will the Violets Be ? 
Green Things Growing . 
" Is Life Worth Living ? " 
The Spring Call 
Robin's Come 
An Apple Orchard in the Spring 
Song from " Pippa Passes " . 



Katharine Lee Bates 217 

William C. Gannett 219 

Dinah Mulock Craik 219 

Alfred Austin 220 

. Thomas Hardy 221 

William W. Caldwell 222 

William Martin 223 

Robert Browning 224 



VI 



AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST! 



" Their Eyes were Opened ' 

The Life Abundant 

Consolation 

Immortality 

Angels to Be 

New Life . 

Sweet Day, so Cool and Bright 

The Central Truth of Paul's Gospe 

" The Great Companion is Dead ' 

The Hope of Death . 

Easter Day 

Easter Morning 

The Awakening 

An Easter Message . 

Easter 



From the Gospel of Luke 229 

Hibbert Lectures 231 

Elizabeth B. Broivning 2.yz 

Matthew Arnold 233 

Leigh Hunt 233 

Susan Coolidge 234 

George Herbert 235 

1 . . Bernard Lucas 236 

John Hunter 239 

Llenry Vaughan 240 

Robert Browning 241 

Edmund Spenser 242 

. Ella Higginson 242 

Lyman Abbott 244 

Richard Watson Gilder 245 



Contents 



xvn 



LIST OF PLATES 



The Resurrection 


Rembrandt 


Frontispiece 


Descent from the Cross . 


Rubens 


facing 


PAGE 

16 


Holy Women at the Tomb 


Plockhorst , 




40 


An Easter Procession, France 


From a Photograph 




56 


Awake, Thou that Sleepest ! 


Fra Angelic o 




80 


Easter Carols . 


Anderson . 




96 


Easter Morning 


Von Uhde . 




112 


The Coming of Spring 


From a Photograph 




136 


Paradise . . . 


Fra Angelic o 




160 


Blessing the Fields . 


Button 




188 


Viewing the Plum Blossoms, 








Japan .... 


Du Cane . 




216 


The Saviour in Glory 


Veronese , 




240 



THE PUBLISHERS of this little volume 
desire to acknowledge the courtesy with 
which many authors and publishers have 
granted permission to reprint poems, articles, 
or extracts cited herein. 



I 

BEFORE THE DAWN 




BEFORE THE DAWN 

How the Ancients thought of Death 
The Eleusinian Mysteries and Later Out- 
growths 
The Dead Pan 
Dies Irag 
The Crucifixion 
Stabat Mater 
Christ Crucified 
To keep a True Lent 
Old Good Friday Customs 
Hot Cross Buns 
Hanging Judas in Mexico 
The Processions of Passion Week in Seville 
In the Sistine Chapel 








^2: 



W 1 



The Land of Forgetfulness 

TILT thou show wonders to the dead ? 
Shall they that are deceased arise and praise thee? 
Shall thy loving-kindness be declared in the grave? 
Or thy faithfulness in Destruction? 
Shall thy wonders be known in the dark? 
And thy righteousness in the land of forgetfulness? 

From the Psalms of David 



How the Ancients thought of Death <^ <^ 

T^OR there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it 

-*- will sprout again, 

And that the tender branch thereof will not cease. 

Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, 

And the stock thereof die in the ground ; 

Yet through the scent of water it will bud, 

And put forth boughs like a plant. 

But man dieth, and wasteth away: 

Yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ? 

As the waters fail from the sea, 

And the river decayeth and drieth up, 

So man lieth down and riseth not: 

Till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, 

Nor be roused out of their sleep. 

From the Book of Job 



T SAID, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the 
■*■ land of the living : 
I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the 

world. 
Mine age is removed, and is carried away from me as a 

shepherd's tent: 
I have rolled up like a weaver my life; he will cut me off 

from the loom : 
From day even to night wilt thou make an end of me . . . 
For the grave cannot praise thee, death cannot celebrate 

thee : 
They that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth. 

From the Book of Hezekiah 

5 



The Book of Easter 

\\ BONDERS are many, and none is more wonderful 
* * than man; the power that crosses the white sea, 
driven by the stormy south wind, making a path under 
surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest 
of the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear, 
turning the soil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs 
go to and fro from year to year. 

And the light-hearted race of birds, and the tribes of 
savage beasts, and the sea -brood of the deep, he snares in 
the meshes of his woven toils, he leads captive, man excel- 
lent in wit. And he masters by his arts the beast whose 
lair is in the wilds, who roams the hills ; he tames the horse 
of shaggy mane, he puts the yoke upon its neck, he tames 
the tireless mountain bull. 

And speech, and wind-swift thought, and all the moods 
that mould a state, hath he taught himself ; and how to flee 
the arrows of the frost, when 'tis hard lodging under the 
clear sky and the arrows of the rushing rain ; yea, he hath re- 
source for all ; without resource he meets nothing that must 
come : only against Death shall he call for aid in vain. 
From Sophocles' Antigone, translated by R. C. Jebb 

The Eleusinian Mysteries and Later Outgrowths 

ONG and hot have been the discussions as to the 
-*— ' origin of spring festivals between those who claim, 
for example, that the spring rites at Eleusis can be traced 
to an Egyptian origin, and those who insist that any such 
adoption by one race from another was rare in mythology, 
and that such resemblances spring rather from a universal 
inclination to certain forms of worship. Eleusis, which 
means the place of "coming," was not at first a name 
attached to one locality rather than another, and it was 

6 



Before the Dawn 

the very commonness of these early festivals which made 
the singling out of one place where they were celebrated 
difficult. Though they seem to have existed from earliest 
times, it is not until the growing supremacy of Athens 
drew into prominence the Attic celebrations that we find 
frequent mention of these old rehearsals of the perennial 
miracle of the return of spring, the reclothing of the Earth 
in greenery after its faded robes had been stripped away 
and hidden by Winter. In these early myths and songs 
are the foundation of all drama. The desire for expres- 
sion of the two great emotions attributed to Nature, her 
sorrow when the sun is withdrawn, and her joy when the 
fruitful season of growth begins again, is poetically de- 
veloped with repetition into the dramatic myth of Deme- 
ter and Persephone. The Norsemen, too, had their 
celebrations of the death of the earth in winter, or, in the 
northernmost regions, the extinction of the sun itself 
for the coldest months, and our very name of Easter is 
taken from the Norse. But in that country behind the 
later season myth lies an even more primitive myth of 
light and dark. A little later in the year Balder' s bale- 
fires are lit at sundown and kept burning through a night; 
with wider significance in Greece, Demeter, seeking Per-- 
sephone, hurries over the earth with a torch in her hand, In 
later days the festival came, with the growth of agriculture, 
to be overshadowed by the rejoicings of the harvest season, 
and by the autumn celebration of the mysteries of the earth - 
goddess. In the beginning she had not been separated 
from the divinity of spring, who, having wandered for nine 
months, at last returns bringing new life and warmth and 
sunshine to the waiting earth. Therefore the Greeks 
celebrated the Eleusinian mysteries with processions of 

7 



The Book of Easter 

veiled figures with torches moving from side to side in 
mimic search for the lost Persephone. So down through 
the years the festival of the divinity of spring, whom the 
Norsemen called Ostara or Eastre, was especially the 
season of new birth ; whence arose the custom of baptizing 
at Easter and also the symbolism of the Easter egg. The 
coloring of these eggs, red and yellow, may have been in 
reference to the Easter fire, or else to the sun. At Easter 
the hearth-fire was lighted afresh, and in many European 
countries even now the peasants carry candles to be lit 
and blessed at the altar, guarding the flame that from 
it the home fire may be rekindled on Easter morning. 
Easter bonfires are kindled on all the hills, since witches 
are banned so far as an Easter fire sheds its light. Around 
these fires the youths and girls who hope for marriage 
during the coming year must dance three (or nine) times 
or give three leaps over the flame. May-pole dances also 
may have had their origin in these same spring rites of 
Eleusis, for the rhythmic interlacing circles of figures hold- 
ing the bright-colored ribands recall inevitably the measured 
torch-light dance of Eleusis, the search from side to side 
for lost Persephone. In these modern days where once 
the image of Demeter would have been borne, that of 
the Virgin is now, as in the Middle Ages, carried about to 
bless the fields. The days set apart are the Rogation Days, 
and on one of them or on Ascension Day is celebrated the 
old ceremony of decorating with fresh flowers the wells 
or springs in token of the returning flow. In Brittany 
in old days the choirs of the churches, headed by the priest, 
made, and possibly still make, solemn procession with 
garlands and chanting to the near-by fountains. 

Anonymous 
8 



Before the Dawn 



The Dead Pan ^> ^> ^> ^* ^> ^> 

/^ODS of Hellas, gods of Hellas ! 
^-* Can ye listen in your silence ? 
Can your mystic voices tell us 
Where ye hide ? In floating islands 
With a wind that evermore 
Keeps you out of sight of shore ? 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

Gods bereaved, gods belated, — 
With your purples rent asunder ! 
Gods discrowned and desecrated; 
Disinherited of thunder ! 
Now, the goats may climb and crop 
The soft grass on Ida's top — 
Now, Pan is dead. 

Calm of old, the bark went onward, 
When a cry more loud than wind, 
Rose up, deepened, and swept sunward, 
From the piled Dark behind : 
And the sun shrank and grew pale, 
Breathed against by the great wail — 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

And the rowers from the benches 
Fell, — each shuddering on his face, — 
While departing Influences 
Struck a cold back through the place; 
And the shadow of the ship 
Reeled along the passive deep — 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

9 



The Book of Easter 

And that dismal cry rose slowly, 
And sank slowly through the air; 
Full of spirit's melancholy 
And eternity's despair I 
And they heard the words it said — 
Pan is dead — Great Pan is dead — 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

'Twas the hour when One in Sion 
Hung for love's sake on a cross — 
When His brow was chill with dying, 
And His soul was faint with loss ; 
When His priestly blood dropped downward, 
And His kingly eyes looked throneward — 
Then, Pan was dead. 

By the love He stood alone in, 
His sole Godhead stood complete; 
And the false gods fell down moaning, 
Each from off his golden seat — 
All the false gods with a cry 
Rendered up their deity — 
Pan, Pan was dead. 

Wailing wide across the islands, 
They rent, vest-like, their Divine ! 
And a darkness and a silence 
Quenched the light of every shrine; 
And Dodona's oak swang lonely 
Henceforth, to the tempest only — 
Pan, Pan was dead. 
10 



Before the Dawn 

Pythia staggered, — feeling o'er her, 
Her lost god's forsaking look, 
Straight her eyeballs filmed with horror, 
And her crispy fillets shook; 
And her lips gasped through their foam, 
For a word that did not come — 
Pan, Pan was dead. 

O ye vain false gods of Hellas, 
Ye are silent evermore ! 
And I dash down this old chalice, 
Whence libations ran of yore. 
See ! the wine crawls in the dust 
Wormlike — as your glories must, 
Since Pan is dead. 

Earth outgrows the mythic fancies 
Sung beside her in youth ; 
And those debonair romances 
Sound but dull beside the truth. 
Phoebus' chariot -course is run ! 
Look up, poets, to the sun ! 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

Christ hath sent us down the angels ; 
And the whole earth and the skies 
Are illumed by the altar-candles 
Lit for blessed mysteries; 
And a Priest's hand through creation, 
Waveth calm and consecration — 
And Pan is dead. 
II 



The Book of Easter 

Truth is fair : should we forego it ? 
Can we sigh right for a wrong? 
God Himself is the best Poet, 
And the Real is His Song. 
Sing His truth out fair and full, 
And secure His beautiful — 
Let Pan be dead ! 

Truth is large. Our aspiration 
Scarce embraces half we be. 
Shame ! to stand in His creation 
And doubt Truth's sufficiency ! — 
To think God's song unexcelling 
The poor tales of our own telling — 
When Pan is dead. 

What is true and just and honest, 
What is lovely, what is pure — 
All of praise that hath admonisht, — 
All of virtue, shall endure : 
These are themes for poets' uses, 
Stirring nobler than the Muses — 
Ere Pan was dead. 

O brave poets, keep back nothing, 
Nor mix falsehood with the whole ! 
Look up Godward ! speak the truth in 
Worthy song from earnest soul ! 
Hold, in high poetic duty, 
Truest Truth the fairest Beauty ! 
Pan, Pan is dead. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
12 



Before the Dawn 



Dies Irse ^> ^> *^> ^> ^> ^> ^> 

7~*\IES IrcBy dies ilia, 
~*~^ Solvet sceclum in favilla 
Teste David cum Sybilla. 

p\ AY of wrath ! oh, day of mourning ! 
*^* See fulfilled the prophets' warning, 
Heaven and earth in ashes burning ! 

Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth, 
When from heaven the Judge descendeth, 
On Whose sentence all dependeth. 

Wondrous sound the trumpet m'ngeth; 
Through earth's sepulchres it ringeth; 
All before the throne it bringeth. 

Death is struck, and nature quaking, 

All creation is awaking, 

To its Judge an answer making. 

Lo ! the Book exactly worded, 
Wherein all hath been recorded: 
Thence shall judgment be awarded. 

When the Judge His seat attaineth, 
And each hidden deed arraigneth, 
Nothing unavenged remaineth. 

What shall I, frail man, be pleading ? 
Who for me be interceding, 
When the just are mercy needing ? 

13 



The Book of Easter 

King of majesty tremendous, 
Who dost free salvation send us, 
Fount of pity, then befriend us I 

Think, good Jesu, my salvation 
Cost Thy wondrous Incarnation; 
Leave me not to reprobation ! 

Faint and weary Thou hast sought me, 
On the cross of suffering bought me. 
Shall such grace be vainly brought me ? 

Righteous Judge ! for sin's pollution 
Grant Thy gift of absolution, 
Ere that day of retribution. 

Guilty, now I pour my moaning, 
All my shame with anguish owning; 
Spare, O* God, Thy suppliant groaning ! 

Thou the sinful woman saved'st ; 
Thou the dying thief forgavest; 
And to me a hope vouchsafest. 

Worthless are my prayers and sighing, 
Yet, good Lord, in grace complying, 
Rescue me from fires undying ! 

A Latin Hymn of the Thirteenth Century, 
translated by Rev. Wm. T. Irons, 1849 



14 



Before the Dawn 

The Crucifixion ^y ^ ^y ^y ^ ^ 

r I ^HEY took Jesus therefore : and he went out, bearing 
■*• the cross for himself, unto the place called "The 
place of a skull," which is called in Hebrew "Golgotha": 
where they crucified him, and with him two others, on 
either side one, and Jesus in the midst. And Pilate wrote 
a title also, and put it on the cross. And there was written, 

"Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews." 
This title therefore read many of the Jews: for the place 
where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city : and it was 
written in Hebrew, and in Latin, and in Greek. The chief 
priests of the Jews therefore said to Pilate, "Write not, 
The King of the Jews; but, that he said, I am King of 
the Jews." Pilate answered, "What I have written I 
have written." 

The soldiers therefore, when they had crucified Jesus, 
took his garments, and made four parts, to every soldier a 
part ; and also the coat ; now the coat was without seam, 
woven from the top throughout. They said therefore one 
to another, Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it, whose it 
shall be: that the scripture might be fulfilled, which saith, 

They parted my garments among them, 
And upon my vesture did they cast lots. 

These things therefore the soldiers did. But there were 
standing by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother's 
sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 
When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple 
standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, 
"Woman, behold thy son!" Then saith he to the dis- 
ciple, "Behold thy mother!" And from that hour the 
disciple took her unto his own home. 

15 



The Book of Easter 

After this Jesus, knowing that all things are now finished, 
that the scripture might be accomplished, saith, "I thirst." 
There was set there a vessel full of vinegar: so they put a 
sponge full of the vinegar upon hyssop, and brought it to 
his mouth. When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar 
he said, "It is finished, " and he bowed his head, and gave 
up his spirit. 

The Jews therefore, because it was the Preparation, that 
the bodies should not remain on the cross upon the sabbath 
(for the day of that sabbath was a high day) asked of Pilate 
that their legs might be broken; and that they might be 
taken away. The soldiers therefore came, and brake the 
legs of the first, and of the other which was crucified with 
him : but when they came to Jesus, and saw that he was dead 
already, they brake not his legs : howbeit one of the soldiers 
with a spear pierced his side, and straightway there came 
out blood and water. 

And he that hath seen hath borne witness, and his 
witness is true : and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye 
also may believe. For these things came to pass, that the 
scripture might be fulfilled, A bone of him shall not be 
broken. And again another scripture saith, They shall 
look on him whom they pierced. 

And after these things Joseph of Arimathaea being a 
disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews, asked 
of Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus : and 
Pilate gave him leave. He came therefore, and took away 
his body. And there came also Nicodemus, he who at the 
first came to him by night, bringing a mixture of myrrh and 
aloes, about a hundred pound weight. So they took the 
body of Jesus, and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, 
as the custom of the Jews is to bury. Now in the place 

16 




DESCENT FROM THE CROSS. 



Rubens. 



Before the Dawn 

where he was crucified, there w r as a garden; and in the 
garden a new tomb wherein was never man yet laid. There 
then because of the Jews' Preparation (for the tomb was 
nigh at hand) they laid Jesus. 

From The Fourth Gospel 

Stabat Mater Dolorosa ^> ^^ ^> ^> ^> 

5 TAB AT Mater Dolorosa 
Juxta crucem lacrymosa 
Dum pendebat filius 
Cujus animam gementem 
Contristatem et dolentem 
Pertransivit gladius. 

By the cross her sad watch keeping 
Stood the maiden mother weeping 

Near her dying-Son and Lord; 
Woe wherewith the heart is broken, 
Sorrows never to be spoken, 

Smote her, pierced her like a sword. 

O with what vast grief oppressed, 
Bowed the more than woman blessed, 

Mother of God's only Son ! 
O what bitterness came o'er her, 
When the dread doom passed before her 

Seeing her Beloved undone! 

Say can any stand by tearless 
When so woebegone and cheerless 
Mourns the Virgin un defiled; 
c 17 



The Book of Easter 

Or the rising anguish smother, 
When he sees the tenderest Mother 
Suffer with her suffering child? 

Love's pure fountain, let me borrow 
From thine anguish sense of sorrow; 

Make me, Mother, mourn with thee; 
Be my heart's best offerings given 
Evermore to Christ in Heaven: 

Let me his true servant be. 

Holy Mother, draw me, win me; 
Plant the Crucified within me; 

Brand his wounds upon my heart; 
For my sake thy Son was stricken ; 
With his blood my spirit quicken; 

Half his agonies impart. 

Let me feel thy sore affliction, 
And my Master's crucifixion 

Share till life's last dawn appears; 
So with thee his cross frequenting, 
Daily would I kneel repenting, 

Meek companion of thy tears. 

Pierce me with my Saviour's piercings, 
Let me taste the Cross and cursings, 

And for love the wine-press tread ! 
Through thy kindly inspiration, 
Virgin, let me find salvation 

In the doom of quick and dead. 
18 



Before the Dawn 

Let Christ's guardian cross attend me, 
And his saving death defend me, 

Cradled in his arms of love ! 
When the body sleeps forsaken, 
Mother, let my soul awaken 
In God's paradise above. 
Translated from the Latin of 

Jacopone da Todi by P. S. Worsley 



Christ Crucified ^y <^y ^y <^- <^ ^^ 

/^LEAR on the ghostly sky the sharp, black cross, 

^ Bearing the lean, white, shuddering limbs, arose; 

And the dark night grew darker than the depth 

Of ocean with unutterable fear. 

Then from a land beyond the stars it seemed 

There crept a thin, sad voice that cut the heart 

To hear it, for so cruelly cried the Christ 

That, of the women waiting there, two fell 

Fainting ; but the third woman silently 

With white, clenched hand clung upright to the cross ; 

And from her mouth a thin, bright thread of blood 

Ran trickling down ; then darker grew the night. 

And dark beyond all hope of any dawn, 

Death sank upon the Christ who cried, "My God, 

My Father, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" 

When over Calvary the darkness waned, 

Clear on the ghostly sky the sharp, black cross 

Bearing the naked, lean, white limbs arose; 

And, of the two women waiting there, two slept; 

But one clung closely to the bitter tree. 

19 



The Book of Easter 

Her mouth was bloody from her broken heart, 
And death e'en now was laying his cold hand 
Upon her brow ; the twain who slept were good 
And holy women ; this was Magdalen. 

Alfred Noyes 



To keep a True Lent ^> *o ^ ^> ^> 

TS this a Fast, to keep 
■*■ The larder Leane, 

And cleane, 
From fat of veales and sheep? 



Is it to quit the dish 

Of flesh, yet still 

To fill 
The platter high with fish ? 

Is it to faste an houre, 

Or rag'd to go, 

Or show 
A downcast look and soure ? 

No ; 'tis a Fast to dole 
Thy sheaf of wheat, 
And meat, 

Unto the hungry soule. 

It is to fast from strife, 

From old debate, 

And hate; 
To circumcise thy life ; 
20 



Before the Dawn 

To show a heart grief -rent, 

To starve thy sin, 

Not bin ; 
And that's to keep thy Lent. 

Robert Herrick. 

Old Good Friday Customs ^y ^ ^ ^ 

A T St. Bartholomews, West Smithfield, the church- 
^ ^ wardens proceeded to an old tomb of a lady whose 
name is now unknown, and threw down upon it twenty -one 
new shillings which were picked up by twenty-one of the 
oldest widows of the parish. The grave-stone was in the 
floor, since the will of the donor (some time before the Great 
Fire) had decreed that any widow who from pride would 
not stoop for it should have no sixpence. This was done 
as late as the beginning of this century. 

At Allhallows, Lombard Street, the custom prescribed 
in the will of Peter Symonds in the year 1665 is faithfully 
carried out. He directed that "6o of ye youngest boys of 
Christ's Hospital (the Bluecoat School) should attend 
divine service on Good Friday morning at Allhallows 
Church, each to receive a new penny and a bag of raisins." 

At Brighton, formerly, the entire fishing community 
used to engage in the amusement of skipping the rope all 
through the day, which was known as Hand Rope Day. 

In Suffolk plain rice boiled in milk is considered the 
orthodox dish for Good Friday. 

In nearly all the Sussex villages not only boys but 
grown-up and even very aged men play at marbles on Good 
Friday. It is considered as wrong to omit this solemn duty 
as to go without the Christmas pudding, etc. It seems to 

21 



The Book of Easter 

be the object of every man and boy to play marbles as 
much as possible; they will play in the road at the church 
gate till the last moment before service and begin again the 
instant they are out of church. Persons play at marbles 
on Good Friday who would never think of playing on any 
other day, and it seems, moreover, to be regarded as an 
amusement permissible on a holyday. 

One writer conjectures that it might have been ap- 
pointed as a Lenten sport to keep people from more boister- 
ous and mischievous enjoyments. 

Folk Lore 

Hot Cross-buns ^^ *^ <^v ^> ^> ^^ 

" Good Friday comes this month, the old woman runs 
With one- or two-a-penny hot cross-buns, 
Whose virtue is, if you believe what's said, 
They'll not grow mouldy like the common bread" 

Poor Robin's Almanack, 1733. 

TT is an old belief that the observance of the custom of 
■*■ eating buns on Good Friday protects the house from 
fire, and several other virtues are attributed to these buns. 
Some thirty or forty years ago pastry-cooks and bakers 
vied with each other for excellence in making hot cross- 
buns; the demand has decreased, and so has the quality 
of the buns. But the great place of attraction for bun- 
eaters at that time was Chelsea; for there were the two 
" royal bun -houses." Before and along the whole length 
of the long front of each stood a flat-roofed neat wooden 
portico or piazza of the width of the footpath, beneath 
which shelter "from summer's heat and winter's cold" 
crowds of persons assembled to scramble for a chance of 
purchasing "royal hot cross Chelsea buns" within a 

22 



Before the Dawn 

reasonable time; and several hundreds of square black 
tins, with dozens of hot buns on each tin, were disposed of 
in every hour from a little after six in the morning till 
after the same period in the evening of Good Friday. 
Those who knew what was good better than newcomers 
gave the preference to the "old original royal bun -house," 
and at which "the king himself once stopped," and who 
could say as much for the other ? This was the conclusive 
tale at the door, and from within the doors, of the old 
original bun-house. Alas ! and alack ! there is that house 
now, and there is the house that was opened as its rival; 
but where are ye who contributed to their renown and 
custom among the apprentices and journeymen, and the 
little comfortable tradesmen of- the metropolis, and their 
wives and children, where are ye? With thee hath the 
fame of Chelsea buns departed, and the " royal bun- 
houses" are little more distinguished than the humble 
graves wherein ye rest. 

William Hone 



r*HE clear spring dawn is breaking, and there cometh 

■*■ with the ray, 

The stripling boy with shining face, and dame in hodden 

gray; 
Rude melody is breathed by all, young, old, the strong 

and weak ; 
From manhood, with its burley tone, and age with treble 

squeak. 
Forth come the little busy Jacks, and forth come little 

Gills, 
As thick and quick as working ants about their summer 

hills; 

n 



The Book of Easter 

With baskets of all shapes and makes, of every size and 

sort; 
Away they trudge with eager step, through alley, street, 

and court. 
A spicy freight they bear along, and earnest is their 

care. 
To guard it like a tender thing from morning's nipping 

air; 
And though our rest be broken by their voices shrill and 

clear, 
There's something in the well-known cry we dearly love 

to hear, 
'Tis old familiar music, when " the old woman runs" 
With " one-a-penny, two-a-penny hot cross-buns!" 
Full many a cake of dainty make has gained a good re< 

nown; 
We all have lauded gingerbread and parliament done 

brown, 
But when did luscious banburies or dainty sally lunns 
E'er yield such a merry chorus theme as "one-a-penny 

buns!" 
The pomp of palate that may be like old Vitellus fed, 
Can never feast as mine did on the sweet and fragrant 

bread ; 
When quick impatience could not wait to share the early 

meal, 
But eyed the pile of hot cross-buns, and dared to snatch 

and steal. 
Oh ! the soul must be uncouth as a Vandal's, Goth's, or 

Hun's, 
That loveth not the melody of one-a-penny buns ! 

From Eliza Cook's Old Cries 
24 



Before the Dawn 

Hanging Judas in Mexico ^> ^> ^* *^ 

TN North America, Mexico appears to be the only place 
•*- where Judas plays the prominent part assigned him all 
over South America, as in Spain and Portugal. Holy Satur- 
day is the day especially devoted to him. His effigy, made 
as hideous as possible — which is very hideous indeed, 
since his creators are endowed with the ardent imagination 
of their race — is placed upon funeral piles and burned 
with immense glee; he is flogged, hanged, and maltreated 
in ways without number. In the City of Mexico such 
hatred is particularly and picturesquely violent. On Good 
Friday morning booths are erected in all parts of the city, 
where many Judases are sold, grotesque and distorted of vis- 
age, garbed in uncouth attire. All day long images large and 
small are bought by men, women, and children, by dozens, by 
scores, by hundreds. On the morning of Holy Saturday, the 
city, to the believing mind, is transformed into a vast place 
of execution. Ropes stretch across the street from house 
to house; from every rope a Judas hangs, filled with straw 
and gunpowder, black and very ugly swaying in the sun. 
He is everywhere, swinging stiffly, like a three-days gibbeted 
corpse; hooted at, cursed in vivid Spanish with all terms 
of infamy and shame. But a few minutes before twelve 
comes a sudden hush, a rent of stillness in the blare of noise. 
The crowd stands listening for the signal of noon from the 
bell of the cathedral, waiting keenly, in strained attention; 
only the Judases still swing to and fro in the sunshine, pas- 
sive, unconcerned. The signal comes, booming over all the 
city. On the instant frenzy smites the town. Every 
luckless Judas is cut down by yelling men and cast headlong 
into flames. He explodes, individually and collectively, 

25 



The Book of Easter 

with dreadful noise and much vile-smelling smoke; this is 
the tainted soul of him fleeing forth to hell which he has 
merited. His end is greeted with furious rejoicings, shouts 
of triumph, parting yells of defiance. 

C. Bryson Taylor 
By permission of the author and Everybody's Magazine. 

The Processions of Passion Week in Seville ^> 

*T*HE oblong Plaza de la Constitution, the scene in 
■*■ days gone by of many a tournament, auto de fe, 
and bull-fight, is bounded on one side by the ornate Re- 
naissance facade of the city hall, and on the other, in part, 
by the plain front of the court-house, before which criminals 
used to be done to death. Private dwellings, with their 
tiers of balconies, one of which had fallen to our happy 
lot, cross the wider end of the plaza, while the other opens 
into the brilliant street of Las Sierpes, too narrow for 
carriages, but boasting the gayest shop windows and 
merriest cafes of all the town. 

Busy as our eyes were kept, we were able to lend ear 
to the explanations of our Spanish friends, who told us 
that the Church dignitaries, after the procession of palms, 
took no official part in the shows of Passion Week, although 
many of the clergy belonged, as individuals, to the religious 
brotherhoods concerned. The Church reserves its street 
displays for Corpus Christi. These brotherhoods, societies, 
of ancient origin, and connected with some church or chapel, 
own dramatic properties often of great intrinsic value and 
considerable antiquity. 

For days before Holy Week one may see the members 
busy in the churches at the task of arranging groups of 

26 



Before the Dawn 

sacred figures, vested as richly as possible in garments 
of silk and velvet, with ornaments of jewels and gold, 
on platforms so heavy that twenty-five men, at least, are 
needed to carry each. These litters are escorted through 
the principal streets and squares of the city by their re- 
spective societies, each brotherhood having its distinctive 
dress. It is customary for every cofradia to present two 
pageants — the first in honor of Christ, the second, and 
more important, in honor of Mary, to whom chivalrous 
Spain has always rendered supreme homage; but some- 
times the two tableaux are combined into one. 

After Palm Sunday a secular quiet fell upon Seville, 
not broken until Wednesday. At five o'clock this March 
afternoon it was still so hot that few people were rash 
enough to move about without the shelter of parasols. 
Sevillian priests, sombre-robed as they were, sauntered 
cheerily across the plaza under sunshades of the gayest 
hues, orange, green, azure red, and usually all at once, 
but the shamefaced Englishmen flapped up broad um- 
brellas of uncompromising black. There was a breezy 
flutter of fans on the grand stand, the water-sellers had to 
fill their jars again and again, and the multitude of smokers, 
puffing at their paper cigarettes to cool themselves, really 
brought on a premature twilight. 

It was nearly seven before a score of gendarmes, march- 
ing abreast, cleared the way for the procession. Then 
appeared, in the usual guise, some twenty feet apart, two 
files of those strange shapes, with high, peaked caps, whose 
visors descended to the breast, slowly advancing with an 
interval of about six feet from man to man. Their caps 
and frocks were black, but the long capes glowed a vivid 
red. They carried the customary lighted tapers, so tall 

27 



The Book of Easter 

that, when rested on the ground, they reached to the shoul- 
der. Midway between the files walked a cross-bearer, 
followed by a Nazarene, who uplifted the standard of St. 
Andrew's Cross in red on a black ground. Bearers of 
other insignia of the order preceded the great litter, on 
which, under a golden palm tree, was represented by 
life-size effigies of the arrest of Christ among his disciples, 
St. Andrew having the foremost place. The second 
pageant presented by this brotherhood was accompanied 
by bevies of white-robed boys swinging censers and chant- 
ing anthems. Then came, in effulgence of light, the Most 
Holy Virgin, escorted, as if she were the earthly Queen of 
Spain, by a detachment of the Civil Guard, whose white 
trimmings and gold belts gleamed in the candle rays. 

The remaining three cofradias that had part in the 
Wednesday ceremonies exhibited but one pageant each. 
A troop in black and gold conducted a Calvary, with Mary 
Mother and Mary Magdalene both kneeling at the foot 
of the cross, robed in the richest velvet. Figures in white, 
with stripes of red, came after, with a yet more costly Cal- 
vary. The well-carved crucifix rose from a gilded mound, 
and Our Mother of Healing wore a gold crown of exceed- 
ing price. But the third Calvary all wrought in black 
and gold, the colors of the brotherhood, which were re- 
peated in standard and costume, won the plaudits of the 
evening. Here Longinus, a Roman centurion, mounted 
on a spirited horse, was in the act of piercing with his lance 
the Saviour's side. Amid vivas and bravos this Passion 
picture passed, like its predecessors, in clouds of incense 
and peals of solemn music. On Thursday the wearing 
of black was almost universal. We rummaged our shawl- 
straps for some poor equivalent of the Spanish black 

28 



Before the Dawn 

silks and black mantillas. The Civil Guard was more 
superb than ever in full -dress uniform, with red vests 
and white trousers. No sound of wheels was suffered 
within the city limits, and late arrivals had to commit their 
luggage to a porter and follow him on foot. 

At three o'clock, in the Sagrario of the cathedral, the 
archbishop washed the feet of thirteen old paupers, who 
sat in two confronting rows, looking neat as wax and happy 
as honey, each dressed in a brand-new suit, with a long- 
fringed damask towel over his shoulder. Their old blood 
had been warmed by the archbishop's own wine, for they 
had just come from luncheon in the ecclesiastical palace, 
where they had been served by the highest dignitaries of 
the church and the proudest nobles of the city. The 
function of foot washing was not taken too seriously. 
The fat canons smiled good-humoredly on their archbishop, 
as his group of attendants lowered him to his knees and 
lifted him again before every old man in turn, and the 
acolytes nudged one another with boyish mirth over the 
rheumatic, embarrassed efforts of the beneficiaries to put 
on their stockings. 

The first two pageants of the afternoon, those of the 
bull -fighters and the cigarette -makers, were awaited with 
special eagerness. For these Seville brotherhoods, more 
than thirty in all, still maintain something of the mediaeval 
structure of the guilds. Just as in England and France, 
from the eleventh to the fifteenth century, or thereabouts, 
organized companies of craftsmen used to present in 
Passion Week successive scenes from the life of Christ, 
these Spanish cofradias to-day maintain such general 
lines of division in performing a similar function. Yet any 
Catholic Sevillian may, if he chooses, secure admission 

29 



The Book of Easter 

to any of these societies, irrespective of occupation. The 
young caballero who chanced to be our prime source of 
information this Thursday afternoon was himself of a 
prominent family, a protege of the archbishop, and a 
student of law, yet he belonged to the brotherhood of Fruit 
Venders, although his devotion - seemed a little languid, 
and he had excused himself on this occasion from the long 
march in the breathless Nazarene garb. 

The bull-fighters of Andalusia are eminently religious 
and are said, likewise, to be remarkable for their domestic 
virtues. All their manly fury is launched against the bull, 
and they have only gentleness left for wives and children. 
I have heard no better argument for the bull ring. At 
all events these toreros, marching soberly in black, with 
yellow belts, escorted with well-ordered solemnity an 
image of the crucified Christ, followed by a queenly effigy 
of Our Lady of Refuge, erect behind terraced ranks of 
candles on a flower-strewn litter, under a costly canopy 
of black velvet embroidered with gold. The cigarette- 
makers came after with their two pageants, Christ fastened 
to the pillar, and Our Lady of Victory. 

It was, as usual, the second upon which the main ex- 
pense had been lavished. A great company of acolytes, 
richly clad and swinging censers of pure silver, went in 
advance of the Virgin, and three bands of music followed 
her with continuous acclaim, while a regiment of soldiers 
attended as a guard of honor. Immediately in front of 
the paso went, surrounded by officers and aides, General 
Ochando, his head uncovered and his breast glittering 
with decorations, for the young king of Spain is a mem- 
ber of this cofradia, and had sent the distinguished mili- 
tary governor of the provinces, who has a palace in Se- 

3° 



Before the Dawn 

ville, to represent him. Especial enthusiasm was called out 
by this image of Mary, for the cigarette-makers had just pre- 
sented her with a new mantle at a cost of nine thousand 
dollars. The brothers were willingly aided by the seven 
thousand women who work in the immense tobacco fac- 
tory, the average contribution of each donor being two 
centimos [two-fifths of a cent] a week during the pre- 
ceding year. No wonder that the Virgin seemed to stand 
proudly upon her silvered pedestal, her gorgeous new 
mantle streaming out until it almost touched the head of 
a white -vested girl who walked barefoot close behind the 
litter, so fulfilling a vow made in extremity of illness. 

Black and white were the banners and costumes of the 
third procession, very effective through the deepening 
dusk. Their leading pageant was a Gethsemane famous 
for the beauty of the carving. Christ is represented in 
prayer before an angel, who bears in one hand the cross 
and in the other the cup of bitterness, while Peter, James, 
and John are sleeping near their Master. These Passion 
groups are, with a few exceptions of still earlier date, works 
of the seventeenth century, the glorious period of Spanish 
art, the day of Murillo and Velasquez. The most and best 
are from the hand of the Sevillian Montanes, of chief 
repute in the Spanish school of polychrome sculpture, 
but this Gethsemane was carved by his imitator, Roldan, 
whose daughter, La Roldana, is accredited with the figure 
of the angel and with the reliefs that adorn the pedestal. 

Another Virgin, who, like all the rest, seemed a scintil- 
lation of gold and jewels, swept by, and a new troop of 
Nazarenes, this time purple and white, passed with two 
august pageants, — the Descent from the Cross and the 
Fifth Anguish of Mary. Then came two files of ash- 

31 



The Book of Easter 

colored figures who marshalled between their rows of 
starry tapers, each taper bending toward its opposite, 
a vivid presentation of the Crowning with Thorns, and 
after this, their Mary of the Valley, noted for the gracious 
sweetness of her countenance. This image is held to be 
one of Montanes's masterpieces in wood-carving. 

Five processions had now passed, with their two pageants 
each, and the hour was late, but we could not leave the 
balcony for anything so commonplace as dinner. Far 
down the street of Las Sierpes waved a river of lights, 
announcing the advent of the most ancient of all the 
Sevillian brotherhoods, Jesus of the Passion. The crowded 
plaza rose in reverence as the Crucifixion paso was borne 
by, and Our Lady of Mercy, too magnificent for her 
name, was greeted with rapturous outcries. 

Just how and when and where something in the way of 
food was taken, I hardly know, but as this, the last of the 
Thursday evening processions, passed in music out to the 
plaza, a few of us made speed by a deserted side street to 
the cathedral. We were too late for the Miserere, which 
was just closing in that surprising hubbub, the stamping 
of feet and beating of canes and chairs against the floor, 
by which Spanish piety is wont to "punish Judas." But 
we took our station near by the entrance to the Royal 
Chapel, wherein had been erected the grand Holy Week 
monument, in white and gold, shaped like a temple and 
shining with innumerable silver lamps and taper lights. 

Within this monument the Host, commonly spoken of in 
Spain as Su Majestad, had been solemnly placed the night 
before, much as the mediaeval church used to lay the 
crucifix, with requiems, under the High Altar on Good 
Friday, and joyously bring it forth again Easter morning. 

32 



Before the Dawn 

But Spanish Catholicism is strangely indifferent to dates, 
burying the Host on Wednesday and celebrating the Res- 
urrection Saturday. The processions of Friday dawn, de 
madrugada, call out great numbers of the devout, who 
would thus keep the last watch with their Lord. The 
clocks struck three as the leading pageant, a very ancient 
image of Christ, bearing a silver-mounted cross of tortoise- 
shell, halted before the Alcalde. A white banner wrought 
with gold heralded the Virgin, who rose, in glistening 
attire, from a golden lake of lights. 

The wealthy cofradia of San Lorenzo followed in their 
costly habits of black velvet. They, too, conducted a 
pageant of Christ bearing his cross, one of the most beauti- 
ful groups of Montanes, the pedestal adorned with angels 
in relief. To the Christ, falling on the Via Dolorosa, the 
brotherhood, with the usual disregard of historic propriety, 
had given a royal mantle of ermine, embroidered with 
gold and pearls. A large company of black-clad women, 
carrying candles, walked behind the paso, on their peni- 
tential march of some eight hours. Many of them were 
ladies delicately bred, whose diamonds sparkled on the 
breast of the approaching Mary. For the Sevillian sefioras 
are accustomed to lend their most valuable gems to their 
favorite Virgins for the Semana Santa, and San Lorenzo's 
Lady of Grief is said to have worn this night the worth of 
millions. She passed amid a great attendant throng, in 
such clouds of incense that the eye could barely catch the 
shimmer of her silver pedestal, the gleam of the golden 
broideries that almost hid the velvet of her mantle and 
the flashes and jets of light that shot from the incredible 
treasure of jewels that she wore. 

The third troop of Nazarenes, robed in white and 

D 33 



The Book of Easter 

violet, bore for banner a white cross upon a violet ground. 
Their Christ-pageant pictured Pilate in his judgment seat 
in the act of condemning the Son of God to death. Jesus, 
guarded by armed soldiers, calmly confronts the troubled 
judge, at whose knee wait two little pages with a basin 
of water and towels. 

And now came one of the most gorgeous features of the 
Holy Week processions — a legion of Roman soldiers, 
attired as never Roman soldiers were, in gold greaves and 
crimson tunics, with towering snow-white plumes. But a 
splendid show they made as, marching to drum and fife, 
they filed down Las Sierpes and stretched il in never 
ending line" across the plaza. Our most Holy Mary of 
Hope, who followed, wearing a fair white tunic and a gold- 
embroidered mantle of green, the color of the hopeful 
season, drowned the memory of that stern military music 
in a silver concert of flutes. 

After this sumptuous display, the fourth band of Naza- 
renes, gliding through the plaza between night and day 
in their garb of black and white, could rouse but little 
enthusiasm, although their Crucifixion was one of the 
most artistic, and their Lady of the Presentation had her 
poorest garment of fine satin. 

A pearly lustre was stealing through the sky, and the 
chill in the air was thinning the rows of spectators on the 
grand stand, when mysterious, dim -white shapes, like 
ghosts, bore by in utter silence a pageant of Christ fainting 
beneath the burden of the cross. 

But soon the clamor of drums and fifes ushered in an- 
other long array of Roman soldiers, a rainbow host in red 
and pink and blue, crimson plumes alternating with white, 
and golden shields with silver. The electric lights, globed 

34 



Before the Dawn 

high overhead, took one look at this fantastic cavalcade 
and went out with a gasp. 

It was now clear day. Canaries began to sing in their 
cages, and parrots to scream for chocolate. Sleepy-eyed 
servant-maids appeared on the balconies, and market 
women, leading green-laden donkeys, peered forth from 
the side streets into the square. The morning light made 
havoc with the glamour of the pageants. Something , 
frank and practical in sunshine stripped those candle - 
lighted litters of their dignity. Busy people dodged 
through the procession lines, and one Nazarene after an- 
other might be seen slipping out of the ranks and hurrying 
awkwardly, in his cumbersome dress, with the half -burned 
taper under his arm, to the refuge of his own mosquito 
netting and orange tree. The tired crowd grew critical 
and irreverent, and openly railed upon the Virgin of this 
ghostly cof radio, because her velvet mantle was com- 
paratively plain. "Bah! how poor it is! Are we to sit 
here all the night for such stingy shows as that?" 

But the last brotherhood in the madrugada processions 
had, with their white frocks and blue caps and capes, 
suited themselves to the colors of the day. The stumbling 
children, blind with sleep, whom fathers were already 
leading off the square, turned back for a drowsy gaze at 
the resplendent tunic of the Christ in the Via Dolorosa 
paso, a tunic claimed to be the richest of all the garments 
worn by the effigies of Jesus. So lovely was this trooping 
company in their tints of sky and cloud, bearing a great 
blue banner and a shining ivory cross, that they brought 
order and decorum with them. 

The division that escorted the Virgin marched on with 
special steadiness, not a peaked cap drooping, nor a boyish 

35 



The Book of Easter 

acolyte faltering under the weight of his tall gilded censer. 
This most Holy Mary of Anguish, whose litter and canopy 
were all of white and gold, swept by in triumphal peals of 
music while the clocks were striking six. In some mental 
confusion, I said good night to the people I left on the 
balcony, and good morning to the people I met on the 
stairs, and ate my breakfast before I went to bed. 

It seemed as if human nature could bear no more; the 
eyes ached with seeing, and phantasmal processions went 
sweeping through our dreams; yet Friday afternoon at 
five o'clock found our balcony like the rest, full to over- 
flowing. Some twenty thousand people were massed in the 
plaza, and it was estimated that over one hundred thou- 
sand waited along the line of march. Our Spanish en- 
tertainers, still unrefreshed by any chance for sleep, were 
as gayly and punctiliously attentive to their guests as ever, 
from our gallant host, who presented the ladies with 
fragrant bouquets of roses and orange blossoms, to the 
little pet of the household, who at the most engrossing 
moments in the ceremonial would slip away from her 
privileged stand on a footstool against the railing to sum- 
mon any member of the party who might be missing the 
spectacle. 

The Spanish colors floated out from city hall and court- 
house, but the great concourse below was all in hues of 
mourning, the black mantillas often falling over dresses 
of plain purple. The senoritas in the balconies had 
substituted knots of black ribbon for the customary flowers 
in the hair. Jet trimmings abounded, and the waving fans 
were black. 

The coming processions, we were assured on every 
hand, would be the most solemn of all and the most sump- 

36 



Before the Dawn 

tuous. The habits of the Nazarenes would be of satin, silk, 
and velvet. The images of Christ and the Virgin would 
be attired with all possible magnificence of damask and 
ermine, gold and jewels. Brotherhood would vie with 
brotherhood in splendor, and one prodigy of luxury would 
succeed another. 

The leading company, whose far-trailing robes carpeted 
the street with fine black velvet, stood for the olive industry. 
This cof radio, had been poor and unimportant for genera- 
tions, but in recent years a devoted brother, a manufacturer 
of olive packing barrels, had poured forth his accumu- 
lated fortune upon his society, with the result that their 
pasos are now second in ostentation and expense to none. 
The donor, long since too feeble to bear his taper in the 
line, lives in humble obscurity, but his old heart swells 
with joy this great day of the year when he sees, following 
the elaborate carving of the Crucifixion, the dazzling 
chariot of Our Lady of Solitude. Upon her mantle, which 
enjoys the proud distinction of being the very costliest of 
all, he has lavished twenty thousand dollars. Longer by 
a yard than any of the others, it was yet unable to find 
place for all the gold which the zealous Nazarene had given 
for it, and the residue was bestowed about the pedestal 
and canopy. The paso is so heavy with gold that it re- 
quires a double force of men to carry it ; but each of these 
hidden bearers, getting air as best he can through a silver 
breathing-tube, is sure of a dollar for his recompense as 
well as two glasses of good wine. 

All the adornment of the litter is of pure gold, and such 
wealth of jewels glinted from the Virgin's glorious raiment 
that a triple force of Civil ' Guards was detailed for her pro- 
tection. Her ardent worshipper has denied her nothing. 

37 



The Book of Easter 

The very columns that uphold her canopy are exquisite in 
carving, and it is his yearly pride to see that her clouds 
of incense are the thickest, and her train of musicians the 
most extended, in all that glittering line. 

The second cofradia exhibited but a single pageant, 
relying for effect upon the beauty of the sculpture. The 
Mater Dolorosa was bowed in her desolation at the foot 
of the Holy Rood, from which hung only the white folds 
of the winding sheet. 

But the third brotherhood had bethought themselves 
to introduce between their austere crucifixion and their 
shining image of Mary another preposterous parade of 
Roman soldiers — flower-colored, plume-tossing, butterfly 
creatures far too bright, if not too good, "for human nature's 
daily food." One whiff from Caesar's iron breast would 
have blown them away like soap bubbles. 

The silversmiths trooped by in graver, more majestic 
state, their purple velvet habits girded with gold cords. 
Upon a gilded pedestal, wrought with high relief, was seen 
their Christ, bowed beneath a precious cross of tortoise- 
shell and silver. Our Lady of Expectation gleamed with 
gold gems, and this haughty brotherhood received a full 
meed of applause. 

Black from top to toe was the fifth procession. Their 
Jesus of the Via Dolorosa bent beneath a sombre cross of 
ebony embossed with gold, but the blithe young voices 
of the countless choir-boys, singing like birds before the 
dawn, ushered in a sun-bright image of Mary. 

But something was amiss with the processional order. 
Where were the stately ranks of Montserrat? Alas and 
alas I Scarcely had this aristocratic cofradia gone a hun- 
dred paces from their chapel when, in the narrow street of 

38 



Before the Dawn 

Murillo, a leaning candle touched the lace skirt of the Vir- 
gin and instantly all the front glitter was in flames. It was 
hardly a matter of minutes. From the balconies above 
were dashed down pailfuls and pitcherfuls of water. The 
Nazarenes, wrenching away the blue velvet mantle won- 
drously embroidered in gold with castles, lions, and fleurs- 
de-lis, succeeded in rescuing a ragged half of it, and the 
Civil Guards, drawing their swords and forming a circle 
about the smoking litter, saved the jewels from robbery. 
Perhaps the other paso, too, Christ of the Conversion of the 
Penitent Thief, had some protecting influence. But in 
all this ado about her finery the poor Virgin's face, beloved 
for its winsome look, was completely burned away. In 
sorry plight Our Lady of Montserrat was hurried back to 
her chapel, and the swift rumor of the disaster sent a super- 
stitious trouble through the city. 

But more and more solemnly the taper -bearing troops of 
Nazarenes poured by the culminating pictures of the Pas- 
sion. These last three cofradias presented each single 
pageant. An escort in dark purple conducted an impres- 
sive Descent from the Cross. The Virgin, her crowned 
head bowed in anguish, clasps the drooping body of Christ 
to her heart, while John and Mary Magdalene look on in 
hopeless sorrow. Figures in black and white came after, 
with their sixteenth -century carving, Christ of the Dying 
Breath, beneath the cross standing Our Lady of Tears. 
And last of all, in slow sad movement, their white trains 
streaming like a line of light along the stone-paved way, 
passed the second brotherhood of San Lorenzo, bearing 
the Most Blessed Virgin in her Solitude. The gold of 
her mantle seemed one with the gold of the candle rays, 
and, for many a silent watcher those gliding, gleaming, 

39 



The Book of Easter 

spirit-like forms will move forever down a shining path 
in memory. So closed the Holy Week processions. 

"How sorry I am," said our host, with the Andalusian 
twinkle in his eye. "It is almost eleven o'clock. Ladies 
and gentlemen, will you please walk out to dinner?" 

On Saturday morning we went early to the cathedral 
for the closing rite. The Sagrario was thronged. Some of 
the senoras had brought low folding chairs with them, 
others sat upon the floor, but most of that innumerable 
congregation knelt or stood. We were all facing the great 
purple veil which concealed the high altar, with Roldan's 
retablo of the Descent from the Cross. There was an hour 
or more of expectation, during which rosaries slipped 
through the fingers of many a veiled nun, and the soft mur- 
mur of prayer came from strong men as well as from pale- 
faced women. Suddenly, while a shock of thunder crashed 
from the organ, hidden ministrants sharply drew on hidden 
cords, the purple curtain parted in the midst, and the two 
folds rolled asunder, revealing the high altar, with its carv- 
ing of the accomplished Passion. The organ poured forth 
jubilees of victory, all the bells of the cathedral pealed 
together, Gloria in Excelsis soared in choral chant, and 
amid the awe-stricken multitudes fallen to their knees Su 
Majestad was borne in priestly procession from the tomb 
in the Royal Chapel to the candles and incense which 
awaited at the high altar that triumphal coming. 

Easter Sunday was celebrated by a bull-fight. 
Katharine Lee Bates in 

Spanish Highways and Byways 



40 



Before the Dawn 



In the Sistine Chapel ^> *^ ^y ^> ^^ 

HPHE last week of Lent was come, and strangers 
-*• streamed back towards Rome. Carriage after 
carriage rolled in through the Porta del Popolo and the 
Porta del Giovanni. On Wednesday afternoon began 
the Miserere in the Sistine chapel. My soul longed for 
music; in the world of melody I could find sympathy 
and consolation. The throng was great, even within 
the chapel — the foremost division was already filled with 
ladies. Magnificent boxes, hung with velvet and golden 
draperies, for royal personages and foreigners from various 
courts, were erected so high that they looked out beyond 
the richly carved railing which separated the ladies from 
the interior of the chapel. The papal Swiss guards stood 
in their fr lght festal array. The officers wore light armor, 
and in tLeir helmets a waving plume : this was particularly 
becoming to Bernardo, who was greeted by the handsome 
young ladies with whom Tie was acquainted. 

I obtained a seat immediately within the barrier, not 
far from the place where the papal singers were stationed. 
Several English people sat behind me. I had seen them 
during the carnival, in their gaudy masquerade dresses ; 
here they wore the same. They wished to pass themselves 
off for officers, even boys of ten years old. They all wore 
the most expensive uniforms, of the most showy and ill- 
matched colors. As for example, one wore a light blue 
coat, embroidered with silver, gold upon the slippers, and a 
sort of turban with feathers and pearls. But this was not 
anything new at the festivals in Rome, where a uniform 
obtained for its wearer a better seat. The people who 
were near smiled at it, but it did not occupy me long. 

4i 



The Book of Easter 

The old cardinals entered in their magnificent violet- 
colored velvet cloaks with their white ermine caps, and 
seated themselves side by side, in a great half circle, 
within the barrier, whilst the priests who had carried their 
trains seated themselves at their feet. By the little side 
door of the altar the Holy Father now entered in his purple 
mantle and silver tiara. He ascended his throne. Bishops 
swung the vessel of incense around him, whilst young 
priests in scarlet vestments knelt, with lighted torches 
in their hands, before him and the high altar. 

The reading of the lessons began. But it was impossible 
to keep the eyes fixed on the lifeless letters of the Missal — 
they raised themselves, with the thoughts, to the vast 
universe which Michael Angelo has breathed forth in 
colors upon the ceiling and the walls. I contemplated 
his mighty sibyls and wondrously glorious prophets, every 
one of them a subject for a painting. My eyes drank in 
the magnificent processions, the beautiful groups of angels ; 
they were not to me painted pictures; all stood living 
before me. The rich tree of knowledge from which 
Eve gave the fruit to Adam; the Almighty God, who 
floated over the waters, not borne up by angels, as the old 
masters represented him — no, the company of angels 
rested upon him and his fluttering garments. It is true 
I had seen these pictures before, but never as now had they 
seized upon me. The crowd of people, perhaps even the 
lyric of my thoughts, made me wonderfully alive to poetical 
impressions ; and many a poet's heart has felt as mine did ! 

The bold foreshortenings, the determinate force with 
which every figure steps forward, is amazing, and carries 
one quite away! It is a spiritual Sermon on the Mount, 
in color and form. Like Raphael, we stand in astonish- 

42 



Before the Dawn 

ment before the power of Michael Angclo. Every prophet 
is a Moses like that which he formed in marble. What 
giant forms are those which seize upon our eye and our 
thoughts as we enter ! But, when intoxicated with this 
view, let us turn our eyes to the background of the chapel, 
whose whole wall is a high altar of art and thought. The 
great chaotic picture, from the floor to the roof, shows 
itself there like a jewel, of which all the rest is only the 
setting. We see there the last judgment. 

Christ stands in judgment upon the clouds, and the 
apostles and his mother stretch forth their hands be- 
seechingly for the poor human race. The dead raise the 
grave stones under which they have lain; blessed spirits 
float upwards, adoring to God, whilst the abyss seizes its 
victims. Here one of the ascending spirits seeks to save 
his condemned brother, whom the abyss already embraces 
in its snaky folds. The children of despair strike their 
clinched fists upon their brows, and sink into the depths ! 
In bold foreshortening, float and tumble whole legions 
between heaven and earth. The sympathy of the angels; 
the expression of lovers who meet; the child that, at the 
sound of the trumpet, clings to the mother's breast, — is so 
natural and beautiful that one believes one's self to be 
one among those who are waiting for judgment. Michael 
Angelo has expressed in colors what Dante saw and has 
sung to the generations of the earth. 

The descending sun, at that moment, threw his last 
beams in through the uppermost window. Christ, and 
the blessed around him, were strongly lighted up ; whilst 
the lower part, where the dead arose, and the demons 
thrust their boat, laden with damned, from shore, were 
almost in darkness. 

43 



The Book of Easter 

Just as the sun went down the last lesson was ended, 
and the last light which now remained was removed, and 
the whole picture- world vanished from before me; but, in 
that same moment, burst forth music and singing. That 
which color had bodily revealed arose now in sound: the 
day of judgment, with its despair and its exultation, re- 
sounded above us. 

The Father of the Church, stripped of his papal pomp, 
stood before the altar and prayed at the holy cross: and 
upon the wings of the trumpet resounded the trembling 
choir, "Populus mens, quid feci tibi?" Soft angels' tones 
rose above the deep song, tones which ascended not from 
a human breast: it was not a man's nor a woman's; it 
belonged to the world of spirits; it was like the weeping 
of angels dissolved in melody. 

In this world of harmony my soul imbibed strength 
and the fulness of life. I felt myself joyful and strong 
as I had not been for a long time. Annunciata, Ber- 
nardo, all my love, passed before my thought. I loved, 
in this moment, as blessed spirits may love. The peace 
which I had sought in prayer, but had not found, flowed 
now, with these tones, into my heart. 

Hans Andersen in The Improvisatore 



44 



II 

EASTER DAYS 




The Resurrection 

The Primitive Easter Play 

The Passion Play at Oberammergau 

Quaint Easter Customs 

The Bells of the Kremlin 

Easter in Jerusalem, 1835 

In Rome under the Old Papal Regime, 

1870 
Easter in Greece 
When the Dead return in Japan 
Egg-rolling in Washington 
On the Island of Ischia 
The Russian Easter 
Easter Day 



~m 



I wj/wjI nullum s\\ 



anifi 




TT IS characteristic of human life that its greatest day 
-*■ should be its saddest, full of suffering and sorrow. It 
showed how life in its essential nature was sad ; but it was 
a day of hope, its sorrow full of promise, and this too is 
characteristic of human life. 

Phillips Brooks. 



48 



The Resurrection ^y ^> ^> ^^ ^^ <^y 

1VTOW on the first day of the week cometh Mary Magda- 
■^ ^ lene early, while it was yet dark, unto the tomb, and 
seeth the stone taken away from the tomb. She runneth 
therefore, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other 
disciple, whom Jesus loved, and saith unto them, "They 
have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we know 
not where they have laid him." Peter therefore went forth, 
and the other disciple, and they went toward the tomb. 
And they ran both together : and the other disciple outran 
Peter, and came first to the tomb ; and stooping and look- 
ing in, he seeth the linen cloths lying; yet he entered not 
in. Simon Peter therefore also cometh, following him, 
and entered into the tomb; and he beholdeth the linen 
cloths lying, and the napkin^ that was upon his head, not 
lying with the linen cloths, but rolled up in a place by itself. 
Then entered in therefore the other disciple also, which 
came first to the tomb, and he saw, and believed. For as 
yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise again 
from the dead. So the disciples went away again unto 
their own home. 

But Mary was standing without at the tomb weeping: 
so, as she wept, she stooped and looked into the tomb; 
and she beholdeth two angels in white sitting, one at the 
head, and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had 
lain. And they said unto her, "Woman, why weepest 
thou?" She saith unto them, "Because they have taken 
away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid 
him." When she had thus said, she turned herself back and 
beholdeth Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. 
e 49 



The Book of Easter 

Jesus saith unto her, " Woman, why weepest thou? whom 
seekest thou?" She, supposing him to be the gardener, 
saith unto him, "Sir, if thou hast borne him hence, tell me 
where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away." 
Jesus saith unto her, "Mary." She turneth herself, and 
saith unto him in Hebrew, "Rabboni": which is to say, 
master. Jesus saith to her, "Touch me not; for I am 
not yet ascended unto the Father, but go unto my brethren, 
and say to them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father, 
and my God and your God." Mary Magdalene cometh 
and telleth the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and how 
that he had said these things unto her. 

When therefore it was evening, on that day, the first 
day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the 
disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood 
in the midst, and saith unto them, "Peace be unto you." 
And when he had said this, he shewed unto them his hands 
and his side. The disciples therefore were glad, when 
they saw the Lord. Jesus therefore said to them again, 
"Peace be unto you: as the Father hath sent me, even so 
send I you." And when he had said this, he breathed 
on them, and saith unto them, "Receive ye the Holy 
Ghost : whose soever sins ye forgive, they are forgiven unto 
them; whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained." 
But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not 
with them when Jesus came. The other disciples therefore 
said unto him, "We have seen the Lord." But he 
said unto them, " Except I shall see in his hands the print 
of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, 
and put my hand into his side, I will not believe." And 
after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas 
with them. Jesus cometh, the doors being shut, and stood 

5° 



Easter Days 

in the midst, and said, " Peace be unto you." Then saith 
he to Thomas, " Reach hither thy finger, and see my hands ; 
and reach hither thy hand, and put it into my side: and 
be not faithless, but believing." Thomas answered and 
said unto him, "My Lord and my God." Jesus saith 
unto him, " Because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: 
blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." 

From The Fourth Gospel 



The Primitive Easter Play ^> ^> ^^ ^> 

TF we would look upon one of these primitive dramas, 
■*■ so unconscious of its own dramatic nature and 
dramatic destiny, we must thread our way through blos- 
somed English lanes and enter the grateful cool of the high- 
arched cathedral. About us is a motley multitude, — 
nobles in scarlet hose and tunics of cloth of gold, ladies in 
bright-hued trailing gowns with floating sleeves and richly 
embroidered girdles, rainbow-vested children pattering 
along in blue and yellow shoes, as if stained from their 
treading among the violets and primroses, and peasant 
groups in coarser stuffs of ruder shape and duller tint. 
Yet there is color everywhere, the raiment of the wor- 
shippers almost seeming to catch the broken lights from the 
great window that gleam like marvellous jewels east and 
west and forth from shadowy aisles. And the well-wrought 
stone of capital and canopy and crocket has tints of russet 
and of buff, and the walls are fairly frescoed, and statues, 
colored to the look of life,- repose on the gem-set tombs of 
bishops and of princes. It is an age of art, an era of percep- 
tion and of feeling. The trooping multitude brings eyes and 

5i 



The Book of Easter 

ears all sensitive and eager. The very influences of the 
sacred place quicken the aesthetic craving. These mediaeval 
church-goers, even the meagre and the ragged, long for a 
service vivid, exquisite, aglow with life and beauty. But 
the scientific and philosophic faculties are not yet hungry. 
The mental world of these thought-children is peopled by 
angels, saints, and devils in company with ghosts, fairies, 
and hobgoblins. Of these the devil is undoubtedly the 
favorite, calling out half-terrified interest and half-tri- 
umphant respect. It is the devil who figures most con- 
spicuously in carving and in speech. . . . 

White -robed monks fill the dim, mysterious choir, the 
altar is heavily draped with black, the golden crucifix, 
thick-set with jewels, is missing from its place, but on the 
north of the chancel we see the Easter sepulchre with 
the stone rolled away from the door. The solemn ritual 
of the Mass proceeds in wonted fashion, with fragrance 
of incense, with silver sound of bell, with kneelings and up- 
risings, with processional pomp and awful adoration, and 
over all the glory of the chant. But when, after a prepara- 
tory chorus of the prophets answered by a chorus of the 
church, there is reached that point in the service whereat the 
tender story of the Marys coming to the sepulchre was of old 
time rendered as an anthem, three choristers in long white 
stoles, bearing perfume -breathing censers, step forth from 
the singing band and walk slowly, with groping motions 
and dirge-like music, toward the north chancel. As they 
near the tomb, with gesture of surprise to see the open door, 
other white-raimented figures, with palm branches in hand, 
rise from the mouth of the sepulchre to meet them, singing 
in sweet, high notes : — 

" Quern quaeritis in sepulchro, O Christicolae?" 

52 



Easter Days 

The Marys make answer in softer, tremulous tone : — 

"Jesum Nazarenum crucifixum, ccelicolse ! " 

And the angels respond with victorious cadence : — 

"Non est hie, surrexit sicut praedixerat; 
Ite, nuntiate quia surrexit de sepulchro." 

In obedience to the gesture of the angels the Marys 
stoop to the opening of the tomb, draw forth the linen 
wrappings, and lifting these in sight of all the people, in 
token of that garment of death which the risen Christ has 
put off from him, turn to the chorus with exultant song : — 

"Dominus surrexit de sepulchro! Alleluia I" 

Then the Te Deum, rolling forth from all that multitude 
in impetuous thanksgiving, floods choir, nave, and tran- 
septs, the worshippers clasp one another, with tears raining 
down their faces, the black draperies are borne away, the 
altar glistens again in gold and rich embroidery, the shining 
crucifix is lifted to its place, and, simple as the representa- 
tion has been, even the little lad in primrose shoes will never 
forget the service, nor the thrill of Easter joy in his soul. 

There are a few selfish moments, in which the people 
press tumultuously toward the carven choir screen, in the 
belief that eyes which may behold the Easter elevation of 
the crucifix shall not close in death for the year to come; 
but as the tide ebbs, and the throng pours out into the sun- 
shine, the living picture has done for them what no dogma, 
no argument, no philosophic analysis, would have had 
the power to do, and in devout rejoicing neighbor greets 
neighbor with the sacred words, "The Lord is risen ! " 
Katharine Lee Bates in 

The English Religious Drama 

53 



The Book of Easter 

The Passion Play at Oberammergau <^ -^ 

/~\BERAMMERGAU is a beautiful little village stand- 
ing in a lonely valley almost on the watershed of the 
Bavarian Alps. A mile or two on one side the streams 
run east toward Munich, but here in the village itself 
the Ammer runs westward towards the Palner See. 
Looked at from above, it forms an ideal picture of an ideal 
village. The clean white walls of the houses with their 
green window-shutters are irregularly grouped round the 
church, which, with its mosque- like minaret, forms the 
living centre of the place. It is the rallying point of the 
villagers, who used to perform their play in the church- 
yard — architecturally as morally the keystone of the 
arch. Seen at sunset or at sunrise, the red-tiled and gray- 
slated roofs which rise among the trees on the other side of 
the rapid and crystal Ammer seem to nestle together under 
the shade of the surrounding hills around the protecting 
spire of the church. High overhead gleams the white cross on 
the lofty Kofel crag which guards the entrance to the valley. 
In the irregular streets Tyrolese mountaineers are 
strolling and laughing in their picturesque costume, but at 
the solemn Angelus hour, when the bells swing out their 
music in the upper air, every hat is raised, and bareheaded 
all remain until the bells cease to peal. It is a homely, 
simple, unspoiled village, and that they have been unspoiled 
by the flood from the outer world which submerges them 
every week all summer through every ten years is in itself 
almost as the miracle of the burning bush. The student 
of social economics might do worse than spend some days 
observing how life goes with the villagers of Oberam- 
mergau. . . . 

54 



Easter Days 

As I write, it is now two days after the Passion Play. 
The crowd has departed, the village is once more quiet and 
still. The swallows are twittering in the eaves, and blue 
and cloudless sky overarches the amphitheatre of hills. 
All is peace, and the whole dramatic troupe pursue with 
equanimity the even tenor of their ordinary life. Most of 
the best players are wood-carvers ; the others are peasants 
or local tradesmen. Their royal robes or their rabbinical 
costumes laid aside, they go about their ordinary walk in 
the ordinary way as ordinary mortals. But what a revela- 
tion it is of the mine of latent capacity, musical, dramatic, 
intellectual, in the human race that a single mountain 
village can furnish, under capable guidance, and with ade- 
quate inspiration, such a host competent to set forth such a 
play from its tinkers, tailors, ploughmen, bakers, and the 
like ! It is not native capacity that is lacking to mankind. 
It is the guiding brain, the patient love, the careful educa- 
tion, and the stimulus and inspiration of a great idea. But 
given these, every village of country yokels from Dorset 
to Caithness might develop artists as noble and as devoted 
as those of Oberammergau. 

In order to explain the meaning of the typical tableaux 
and to prepare the audience for the scene which they are 
about to witness, recourse is had to an ingenious arrange- 
ment, whereby the interlude between each scene is rilled up 
with singing in parts and in chorus by a choir of Schutzgeis- 
ter, or Guardian Angels. The choragus, or leader of the 
choir, first recites some verses clearly and impressively, 
then the choir bursts out into song accompanied by an 
orchestra concealed from view in front of the stage. The 
tinkle of a little bell is heard, and the singers draw back so 
as to reveal the tableaux. The curtain rises and the tab- 

55 



The Book of Easter 

leau is displayed, during which they sing again. The 
curtain falls, they resume their old places, and the singing 
proceeds. Then when they come to the end, half file off 
to the right, half to the left, and the play proper begins. 
When the curtain falls, they again take their places and 
resume their song. The music is very simple but impres- 
sive, and the more frequently it is heard, the more you feel 
its force and pathos. The chorus occupies the stage for 
fully half the time devoted to the piece. 

Their dress is very effective. From the choragus in the 
centre in bright scarlet, all wear coronets, with the cross 
in the centre, and are habited in a white under tunic, with 
golden edging, in yellow leather sandals and stockings of 
the same color as the robe, which falls from their shoulders. 
These robes, held in place by gold -decorated cords and 
tassels round the breast and round the waist, are arranged 
very artistically and produce a brilliant effect, especially 
when the wearers are leaving the stage by the wings. 
Twice, however, these brilliant robes are exchanged for 
black — immediately before and immediately after the 
Crucifixion. The bright robes, however, are resumed at 
the close, when the play closes with a burst of hallelujahs 
and a jubilant triumph over the Ascension of Our 
Lord. 

The first tableau is emblematic of the Fall. When the 
curtain is drawn up, Adam and Eve, a man and woman 
of the village, habited very decently in white sheepskin, 
are flying from the Garden of Eden, where stands the tree 
with the forbidden fruit, while from its branches hangs 
the Serpent, the Tempter. An angel with a sword painted 
to look like flame forbids their return. After the choir 
have sung a stanza the curtain falls, they resume their 

56 




Copyright, ZQ07, by Underwood and Underwood. 
AN EASTER PROCESSION, FRANCE. 



Easter Days 

places on the stage singing how from afar from Calvary's 
heights gleams through the night the morning dawn. They 
go on singing, and after a while the curtain is rung up again 
for the second tableau. This represents the Adoration of 
the Cross. A cross of wood painted on a rock occupies 
the centre of the stage. One girl stands with one hand 
around the cross, the other holding a palm branch, while 
another kneels at its foot. Around are grouped fourteen 
smaller cherubs, charming little creatures, all standing or 
kneeling as motionless as if they had been hewn out of stone. 
The grace of the little ones is wonderful, and the grouping 
most natural. All point to or gaze at the Cross. 

When the curtain falls, it does not rise upon another 
tableau until after the first scene has been presented and 
Christ has made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem amid 
the hosannas of the children. The third tableau, which 
comes immediately before the Sanhedrim meets to discuss 
how to destroy the Galilean, shows us the children of Jacob 
in the plain of Dothan conspiring how to kill Joseph, who, 
in his coat of many colors, — in this case plain white with 
red facings or stripes, — is approaching from behind. His 
brethren are leaning against the well into which they decide 
to fling their unfortunate victim. The chorus sing a verse 
emphasizing the parallel between Joseph and Jesus. 
The common offence alleged against each is that he would 
make himself a king to reign over us. 

After the meeting of the Sanhedrim there are two tab- 
leaux, both intended to foreshadow the departure of Christ 
for Bethany. The first, taken from the Apocrypha, and 
therefore unfamiliar to most English visitors, represents the 
departure of Tobias, who with his little dog takes leave of 
his parents before setting forth with the angel Raphael, 

57 



The Book of Easter 

who is in dress, with a staff instead of wings. The little 
dog stands as if stuffed, if indeed it is not. All the 
human performers in the tableaux preserve the most per- 
fect natural pose with inflexible immobility. I watched 
them closely, and never saw a finger shake in any of the 
tableaux. Only Isaac's eyes blinked as he lay on the altar 
of Mount Moriah, and one little child seated among the 
hundred who represented the Israelites bitten by the fiery 
serpents moved her eyes. With these two exceptions 
they might all have beeri modelled in ivory. 

After Tobias comes the tableau of the Bride in the Song 
of Solomon, who is lamenting her lost and absent bride- 
groom. She is gorgeously arrayed in the midst of a bevy of 
fair companions in the traditional flower garden, and while 
it is displayed, the chorus sings a lament as ardent in its 
passion as the original in Canticles. Christ, of course, is 
prefigured by the absent bridegroom ; the lamenting bride, 
who appeals to the daughters of Jerusalem, is the Church, 
the Lamb's Bride of the Apocalypse. The comparison may 
be orthodox, but the contrast between the bride and her 
flower-surrounded companions and the almost intolerable 
pathos of the parting at Bethany, which immediately fol- 
lows, is greater than that which exists elsewhere in the 
play. 

The sixth tableau, which is supposed to typify the doom 
of Jerusalem for the rejection of the Saviour, presents us 
with a picture of the court of Ahasuerus at the moment 
when Vashti the Queen is falling before the wrath of her 
royal consort, who is welcoming Esther to the vacant throne. 
Judging from the tableaux, Ahasuerus could not be con- 
gratulated upon the change. Poor Vashti's beauty is all 
exposed to the assembled banqueters, but exposed in 

58 



Easter Days 

shame and disgrace instead of being exhibited as the 
glory of her lord's harem. Her fate is declared by the 
chorus to foreshadow that of the Synagogue. 

The seventh and eighth tableaux foreshadow the Last 
Supper. Both are marvellous displays of artistic skill in 
grouping hundreds of persons in a comparatively small 
space. The first is the gathering of the manna in the wilder- 
ness ; the second the return of the spies from the Promised 
Land with a bunch of grapes so colossal as to cause two 
strong men to stagger beneath its weight. The whole of 
the stage is a mosaic of heads and hands. Four hun- 
dred persons, including one hundred and fifty children, are 
grouped in these two great living pictures, and so motion- 
less are they that you might almost imagine that they were 
a group in colored marble. The tableaux are conventional 
enough. Moses has his two gilt rays like horns jutting out 
of his head, the manna falls from above the stage like snow 
in a theatrical winter piece, and there is no attempt to re- 
duce the dimensions of the bunch of grapes to credible 
proportions. But these details of criticism are forgotten 
in admiration of the skill with which every one, down to 
the smallest child, is placed just where he ought to be placed, 
does just what he ought to do, clad in the right color, and in 
harmonious relation to all his neighbors. The reference to 
the manna and to the land that flowed with milk and honey 
lead up to the institution of the Last Supper. 

' The ninth tableau brings us back to Joseph, whose sale 
to the Midianites for twenty pieces of silver naturally 
leads up to Judas' s bargain for twenty pieces of silver with 
the Sanhedrim for the betrayal of his Master for thirty. 
It was curious to recognize among the mute figures in the 
tableaux many of those who but a moment before had been 

59 



The Book of Easter 

active in the Sanhedrim. Such anachronisms, however, 
hardly call for more than a passing smile. 

The scene in the Garden of Gethsemane is heralded by a 
double tableau. The first, which is the tenth in order of 
tableaux, shows Adam under the curse ; the second, Joab's 
treacherous assassination of Amasa. Adam, clad in a 
white sheepskin, is represented as sweating and wearied 
by digging in ungrateful soil. Three of his small children 
are helping him to pull the thorns and briers from the 
earth, while Eve, apparently a young girl, with black hair, 
also skin -clad, is the centre of a group of three very young 
children, while two in the background are playing with a 
stuffed lamb. The parallel is worked out by the choir be- 
tween Adam's sweating and the bloody sweat in Geth- 
semane. 

The effective tableau which follows represents Joab 
making ready to smite Amasa under the fifth rib, while 
proffering him a friendly kiss. We here come upon 
several soldiers who do duty in the next scene as the guard 
who arrest Jesus. The tableau is remarkable, because as 
the chorus sings there comes an echo from the rocks within 
where a concealed choir sing in response to the eager in- 
quiry of the chorus, "What happened ? What happened ? " 
describing the murder of Amasa, which, of course, needs 
no link to connect itself with the coming betrayal of Jesus. 

After the arrest of Christ comes the interval or pause 
for lunch. When the audience reassembles to witness the 
appearance of Christ before the high priest, the prefatory 
tableau — the twelfth of the series — shows how Micaiah, 
the prophet of the Lord, was smitten by Zedekiah, the priest 
of Baal, for daring to predict, before Ahab and Jehosha- 
phat, the approaching death of the King of Israel at the battle 

60 



Easter Days 



of Ramoth Gilead. The chorus sings several verses which 
lay stress upon the fact that if men speak out the truth, 
they must expect to be smitten in the face. The singing is 
rendered with much force and effect. 

The thirteenth and fourteenth tableaux come before the 
appearance of Christ before Caiaphas. They represent the 
stoning of Naboth, a venerable old man who is being crushed 
beneath the missiles of Jezebel's sons of Belial, and the 
sufferings of Job, who is shown on his dunghill, scoffed at, 
plagued, and derided by his friends, his servants, and even 
by his wife. The chorus sings a series of verses about Job, 
all beginning with the German equivalent of Ecce Homo — 
"Seht Welch ein Mensch!" the phrase afterwards used 
by Pilate when displaying Christ to the people. 

The fifteenth tableau prefacing the despair of Judas 
represents the despair of Cain. Cain, a tall, dark, and stal- 
wart man, clad in a leopard's skin, is dropping the heavy 
tree branch with which he has slain his brother. Abel, in a 
lambskin, lies dead, with an ugly wound on his right temple. 
Cain's right hand is pressed upon the brow on which is to 
be set the brand of God. It is a fine scene, full of simple, 
tragic effect. 

The sixteenth tableau, which precedes the appearance 
of Christ before the tribunal of Pilate, the foreign ruler, 
is devoted to the scene in which Daniel was denounced 
before Darius immediately preceding his consignment to 
the den of lions. Daniel stands forth before the king 
undismayed by his accusers, a much more vigorous and 
rugged specimen of persecuted virtue than the Man of 
Sorrows, who immediately afterwards was led before Pilate. 

Tableau seventeenth, which prefigures the contemptu- 
ous mockery of Christ by Herod, represents Samson 

61 



The Book of Easter 

avenging himself upon the Philistines by pulling down 
the temple upon their heads. The blinded giant strains 
at one of the two pillars on which the roof rests, breaking 
it asunder, and the company in their mirth wait in horror 
to see their impending doom. The parallel in this case 
is between the mocking of Samson and the jeers to which 
Christ was subjected, not to the vengeance of the former 
upon the Philistines. 

The eighteenth and nineteenth tableaux precede the 
scourging. The former represents the bringing of Joseph's 
coat, all steeped in blood, to the patriarch Jacob; the 
latter the sacrifice of Isaac. Joseph's coat is not very 
bloody. His father's distress is very vividly expressed. 
Isaac lies on Mount Moriah, a curly, black-headed youth, 
— boy or girl, it was difficult to make out, — while Abra- 
ham, who is just about to slay him with a bright falchion, 
is restrained by an angel, who points to a ram in a thicket, 
which, although stuffed, looks as much alive as any of the 
human figures in the tableaux. 

The scene in which Christ is sentenced to death is pref- 
aced by two tableaux, neither of them particularly ap- 
propriate. The first represents Joseph acclaimed as 
Grand Vizier of Pharaoh. The stage is filled with a 
bright spirited multitude of acclaiming beholders. The 
tableau is unquestionably vivid, but as a preface to the 
Death Sentence it is somewhat out of place. More 
appropriate, although scenically less telling, is the choice 
of the scapegoat, which is represented as taking place in 
the temple, before an interested crowd of spectators. 

Two more tableaux bring us to the Crucifixion. The 
first represents Isaac carrying the wood with which he was 
to be burned up the slope of Mount Moriah ; the second, 

62 



Easter Days 

another scene from the wilderness, full of spirit and life, 
shows Moses raising the brazen serpent on high so that 
all who look upon it may live even though they have been 
bitten by the fiery serpent. The stage is crowded with life. 

There used to be two additional tableaux, representing 
Jonah and the whale, and the passage of the children 
through the Red Sea. These tableaux, which preceded 
the Resurrection, have disappeared, reducing the total 
number from twenty-five to twenty-three. The most 
remarkable omission — regarded from the point of view 
of Scripture history — is the entire absence of David 
from the tableaux. 

There is no allusion to Solomon, or to the Conquest of 
Canaan, or to Isaiah, the evangelical prophet. But within 
the compass of twenty-three pictures a really marvellous 
range of subjects is obtained, and all of them, whether 
appropriate or inappropriate according to our ideas, are 
worked out with marvellous care and presented with the 
most painstaking fidelity on the part of all concerned. 
The gospel according to St. Daisenberger, as unfolded 
on the stage at Oberammergau, is his version of the story 
that transformed the world, and that will yet transform 
it again. It is the old, old story in a new, and to Protes- 
tants, somewhat unfamiliar dress. It is as if the Gospel 
from the stained windows of our cathedrals had suddenly 
taken living bodily shapes and transacted itself once more 
before our astonished eyes. 

Many of the scenes of the play have an almost harrow- 
ing interest, but some of them may be singled out as 
especially effective. Among these are the conspiracy of 
the priests in the Sanhedrim, a most powerful conception 
from first to last; the parting of Jesus with his mother 

63 



The Book of Easter 

Mary; the Last Supper; the thrilling protests of Nicode- 
mus and Joseph of Arimathea ; the mocking of Christ by 
the soldiers; the silence before the contemptible Herod; 
the scene before Pilate's judgment seat; and the bearing 
of the Cross to Golgotha. During some of these scenes 
there was scarely a face among the four thousand spec- 
tators which was not wet with tears, and what is more 
remarkable some of the actors themselves were visibly 
weeping. — What are we to say of the last scenes of all ! 
Speaking of my own personal impressions, I can only say 
that they seemed to me too awfully sacred to be witnessed 
without misgivings. Everything indeed is done to prepare 
the mind of the spectators, the chorus laying aside their 
splendid mantles, appear in black; the song which they 
sing and the words spoken by the choragus are meant to 
hush every heart into profound solemnity. Even amid the 
marvellous realism there is the most consummate reverence. 
The great minds which worked out the ideal of the play rose 
superior to a morbid extravagance. Even amid the brief 
agony of the Crucifixion they never lose sight of the pre- 
dominant elements of hope and joy. 

Canon Farrar. 

Quaint Easter Customs ^> ^> ^^> ^> ^> 

The Easter Sepulchre 

*T*HE primitive Passion drama was nothing more than 
■* the solemn lowering the crucifix on Good Friday, the 
laying it away beneath the altar, and the raising it again, 
with anthems of rejoicing, on the Resurrection festival. 
Mr. Pollard has pointed out that a trace of the old observ- 
ance yet lingers in the custom of veiling the crucifix from 
Holy Thursday to the first evensong of Easter. 

6 4 



Easter Days 

But the hallowed place beneath the altar did not long 
suffice, as the ritual became more and more magnificent, 
for the reception of the crucifix or of the gilded picture, or 
carven figure, sometimes substituted in this ceremony for 
the crucifix. Temporary sepulchres of wood were built 
in arched recesses of the chancel wall, on the north, and 
by the fourteenth century these in turn gave way, in many 
churches both of England and the Continent, to permanent 
structures of stone. An interesting record remains of 
Durham : — 

"Within the church of Durham, upon Good Friday, there 
was a marvellous solemn service, in which service time, 
after the Passion was sung, two of the eldest monks took a 
goodly large crucifix all of gold of the semblance of our 
Saviour Christ, nailed upon the Cross. . . . The service 
being ended, the said two monks carried the Cross to the 
Sepulchre with great reverence (which Sepulchre was set 
up that morning on the north side of the choir, nigh unto 
the High Altar, before the service time), and there did lay 
it within the said Sepulchre with great devotion." 

Upon these sepulchres was lavished rich beauty of carv- 
ing and of color. The sleeping soldiers, their weapons 
drooping in their hands, were carved upon the lower portion, 
and upon the upper the hovering figures of attendant 
angels. The sepulchre was guarded during the night 
preceding Easter Sunday by some officer of the church? 
who was duly paid for his vigil. So late as 1558 the 
"accompts" of St. Helen's Abingdon contain the following 
items : — 

"Payde for making the sepulture, 105." 

"For peynting the same sepulture, 35." 

"For stones, and other charges about it, 4s 6d" 

F 65 



The Book of Easter 

"To the sexton for meat and drink, and watching the 
sepulture according to custon, 2 2d." 

Compiled and condensed from Various Sources 

Easter Eve 

/^YN Easter Eve the fire all is quencht in every place, 
^^ And fresh againe from out the flint is fetcht with 

solemne grace; 
The priest doth halow this against great daungers many one, 
A brande whereof doth every man with greedie minde take 

home, 
That, when the fearefull storme appears, or tempest black 

arise, 
By lighting this he safe may be from stroke of hurtful skies, 
A taper great, the Paschall namde, with musicke then they 

blesse, 
And franckencense herein they pricke, for greater holy- 

nesse ; 
This burneth night and day as signe of Christ that con- 

querde hell, 
As if so be this foolish toye suffiseth this to tell. 
Then doth the bishop or the priest the water halow 

straight, 
That for their baptisme is reserved: for now no more of 

waight 
Is that they usde the yeare before ; nor can they any more 
Young children christen with the same, as they have done 

before. 
With wondrous pomp and furniture amid the church they go, 
With candles, crosses, banners, chrisme, and oyle ap- 

poynted tho': 

66 



Easter Days 



Nine times about the font they marche, and on the Saintes 

do call 
Then still at length they stande, and straight the priest 

begins withall. 
And thrise the water doth he touche, and crosses thereon 

make; 
Here bigge and barbrous wordes he speaks, to make the 

Devill quake; 
And holsome waters conjureth, and foolishly doth dresse, 
Supposing holyar that to make which God before did 

blesse. 
And after this his candle than he thrusteth in the floode, 
And thrice he breathes thereon with breath that stinkes of 

former foode. 
And making here an end, his chrisme he poureth thereupon, 
The people staring hereat stande amazed every one; 
Beleaving that great powre is given to this water here, 
By gaping of these learned men, and such like trifling 

gere. 
Therefore in vessels brought they draw, and home they 

carie some 
Against the grieves that to themselves or to their beasts 

may come. 
Then clappers cease, and belles are set againe at libertee, 
And herewithal the hungrie times of fasting ended bee. 

Barnabe Googe 

Easter Eggs 

/^\N Easter Eve and Easter Day, all the heads of fami- 
^-^ lies send great chargers, full of hard eggs, to the 
church, to get them blessed, which the priests perform by 
saying several appointed prayers, and making great signs 

67 



The Book of Easter 

of the cross over them, and sprinkling them with holy 
water. The priest, having finished the ceremony, demands 
how many dozen eggs there be in every bason? These 
blest eggs have the virtue of sanctifying the entrails of the 
body, and are to be the first fat or fleshy nourishment they 
take after the abstinence of Lent. The Italians do not 
only abstain from flesh during Lent, but also from eggs, 
cheese, butter, and all white meats. As soon as the eggs 
are blessed, every one carries his portion home, and caus- 
eth a large table to be set in the best room in the house, 
which they cover with their best linen, all bestrewed with 
flowers, and place round about it a dozen dishes of meat, 
and the great charger of eggs in the midst. 'Tis a very 
pleasant sight to see these tables set forth in the houses 
of great persons, when they expose on side-tables (round 
about the chamber) all the plate they have in the house, 
and whatever else they have that is rich and curious, in 
honor of their Easter eggs, which of themselves yield a 
very fair show, for the shells of them are all painted with 
divers colors, and gilt. Sometimes they are no less than 
twenty dozen in the same charger, neatly laid together in 
the form of a pyramid. The table continues, in the same 
posture, covered, all the Easter week, and all those who 
come to visit them in that time are invited to eat an Eas- 
ter egg with them, which they must not refuse. 

Emilianne. 

The Fete of the Eggs, France 

T^HIS fete was held annually at the Easter season on 
•■*■ La Motte du Pongard, an ancient druidical barrow 
situated at a short distance from Dieppe, and was only 
abolished at the time of the Revolution. 

68 



Easter Days 

"A crowd of persons of both sexes came from the neigh- 
boring villages, and met together round the barrow, 
forming what is called in the country an 'Assembly.' 
A hundred eggs were put into a basket, and placed at the 
foot of the eminence. One of the troop (now united in 
a circle) took an egg which he carried to the top of the 
mound, then another successively till they were all placed 
there. He then brought them back one by one, till they 
were all placed in the basket. In the same time some 
other member of the 'Assembly' 'ran the eggs' as it is 
called ; that is, went as fast as legs would carry him to 
Bacqueville, a large village about a mile and a quarter 
from the spot; and if he returned before the hundredth 
egg was replaced in the basket, he gained the prize, of 
course, which consisted of a hogshead of cider, which he 
afterward distributed among his friends. The whole 'As- 
sembly' now gave themselves up to rejoicing and amuse- 
ment, and danced in a ring around the pile, representing a 
chain without end. The egg figured in this rural fete 
in memory of the serpent egg consecrated by the Druids. 
It was also an emblem of the year, as it is attested by the 
accounts of many religious ceremonies in different nations." 

The Mirror 

The Easter Hare 

TT is an interesting speculation for the stroller on Broadway 
■*■ at the Easter season to consider from what a distance 
the poetic fancies of the distant nations of remote times 
have filtered down to decorate the festival of a God they 
never knew. 

The old, old association of the waning moon, returning 
in its own time to light the darkness, with the night of 

6 9 



The Book of Easter 

winter and the return of the sun and of new life in the spring 
is back of many of the trinkets that ornament a con- 
fectioner's window to-day. To the Phoenician, perhaps, 
the egg was the symbol of the golden moon floating in 
that far-away liquid space whence come the spring rains; 
whence, too, was believed to come the impulse of the new 
life which yearly breaks through the hard shell of the frost- 
bound earth. Easter torches have passed from hand to 
hand ever since the summer festivals in the northern 
mountains. They were kindled at midnight and carried 
to the hill-tops to light the path of Baldur, should he re- 
turn from the dead. 

From Egypt and Farther India comes the association 
of the hare with the Easter season. A writer in the 
Atlantic Monthly says: "The name of the hare in Egyptian 
was un, which means open, to open, the opener. Now 
the moon was the open-eyed watcher of the skies at night, 
and the hare, born with open eyes, was fabled never to 
close them. It is an old saying that: 'The Hare feeds 
only at night.'" The same word un, probably because 
of the repeated association of opening and shutting, came 
to have a significance of periodicity also associated with 
the habits of the hare, and with the moon goddess, as the 
measurer of days. The suggestion of purity and innocence 
with the white coat of the Easter hare is wholly a modern 
addition. 

The Hindoo myth has it that Buddha, changing into the 
body of a hare, offered himself as food to a starving traveller; 
and that therefore the hare abides in the sun forever. 
Another old saying is, "The moon leaps like a hare when 
the sun dies." 

Anonymous 
70 



Easter Days C^ 

Customs of Easter Week 

' I ^HE following extract is from the Public Advertiser 
■*■ for Friday, April 13, 1787: "The custom of 
rolling down Greenwich -hill at Easter is a relique of old 
City manners, but peculiar to the metropolis. Old as the 
custom has been, the counties of Shropshire, Cheshire, 
and Lancashire boast one of equal antiquity, which they 
call Heaving, and perform with the following ceremonies, 
on the Monday and Tuesday in the Easter week. On 
the first day a party of men go with a chair into every 
house to which they can get admission, force every female 
to be seated in their vehicle, and lift them up three times, 
with loud huzzas. For this they claim the reward of a 
chaste salute, which those who are too coy to submit to 
may get exempted from by a fine of one shilling, and 
receive a written testimony, which secures them from a 
repetition of the ceremony for that day. On the Tuesday 
the women claim the same privilege, and pursue their 
business in the same manner, with this addition — that 
they guard every avenue to the town, and stop every 
passenger, pedestrian, equestrian, or vehicular." That 
it is not entirely confined, however, to the northern 
counties may be gathered from the following letter, 
which Brand received from a correspondent of great, 
respectability in 1 799 : — 

"Having been a witness lately to the exercise of what 
appeared to me a very curious custom at Shrewsbury, 
I take the Jiberty of mentioning it to you, in the hope that 
amongst your researches you may be able to give some 
account of the ground or origin of it. I was sitting alone 
last Easter Tuesday at breakfast at the Talbot at Shrews- 

7i 



The Book of Easter 

bury, when I was surprised by the entrance of all the 
female servants of the house handing in an arm-chair, 
lined with white, and decorated with ribbons and favors 
of different colors. I asked them what they wanted. 
Their answer was, they came to heave me. It was the 
custom of the place on that morning, and they hoped I 
would take a seat in their chair. It was impossible not 
to comply with a request very modestly made, and to a set 
of nymphs in their best apparel, and several of them under 
twenty. I wished to see all the ceremony, and seated 
myself accordingly. The group then lifted me from the 
ground, turned the chair about, and I had felicity of a 
salute from each. I told them I supposed there was a fee 
due upon the occasion, and was answered in the affirm- 
ative; and having satisfied the damsels in this respect, 
they withdrew to heave others. At this time I had never 
heard of such a custom ; but, on inquiry, I found that on 
Easter Monday, between nine and twelve, the men heave 
the women in the same manner as on the Tuesday, be- 
tween the same hours, the women heave the men. I will 
not offer any conjecture on the ground of the custom, 
because I have nothing like data to go upon; but if you 
should happen to have heard anything satisfactory re- 
specting it, I should be highly gratified by your mention- 
ing it. ..." 

From Brand's Popular Antiquities 

A WARWICKSHIRE correspondent says : — " When 
^ ^ I was a child, as sure as Easter Monday came, I 
was taken to see the children clip the churches. This 
ceremony was performed amid crowds of people, and 
shouts of joy by the children of the different charity 

7? 



Easter Days 

schools, who at a certain hour flocked together for the 
purpose. The first comers placed themselves hand in 
hand with their backs against the church, and were joined 
by their companions, who gradually increased in number, 
till at last the chain was of sufficient length completely to 
surround the sacred edifice. 

"As soon as the hand of the last of the train had grasped 
that of the first the party broke up, and walked in pro- 
cession to the other church (for in those days Birmingham 
boasted but of two), where the ceremony was repeated." 

Hone's Every Day Book. 

/L 

The Bells of the Kremlin ^> ^ ^ ^ 

HHHOUGH the tower of Ivan Veliki is the finest 
•*- belfry in Russia, it has no special beauty, but being 
two hundred sixty-nine feet high, towers finely above 
all the other buildings of the Kremlin in the distant views. 
Halfway up is a gallery, whence the sovereigns from Boris 
to Peter the Great used to harangue the people. The 
exquisite bells are only heard in perfection on Easter Eve 
at midnight. On the preceding Sunday (Palm Sunday) 
the people have resorted in crowds to the Kremlin to buy 
palm branches, artificial flowers, and boughs with waxen 
fruits to hang before their icons. On Holy Thursday 
the Metropolitan has washed the feet of twelve men, repre- 
senting the Apostles, in the cathedral, using the dialogue 
recorded in John xii. Then at midnight on Easter Eve 
the great bell sounds, followed by every other bell in Mos- 
cow; the whole city blazes into light; the tower of Ivan 
Veliki is illuminated from its foundation to the cross on 
its summit. The square below is filled with a motley 

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The Book of Easter 

\ throng, and around the churches are piles of Easter cakes, 
1 each with a taper stuck in it, waiting for a blessing. The 
interior of the Church of the Rest of the Virgin is thronged 
by a vast multitude bearing wax tapers. The Metropolitan 
and his clergy, in robes blazing with gold and precious 
stones, have made the external circuit of the church three 
times, and then, through the great doors, have advanced 
towards the throne between myriads of lights. No words 
can describe the colors, the blaze, the roar of the uni- 
versal chant. Descending from the throne, the Metro- 
politan has incensed the clergy and the people, and the 
clergy have incensed the Metropolitan, whilst the spectators 
have bowed and crossed themselves incessantly. After 
a service of two hours the Metropolitan has advanced, 
holding a cross which the people have thronged to kiss. 
He has then retired to the sanctuary, whence, as Ivan 
Veliki begins to toll, followed by a peal from a thousand 
bells announcing the stroke of midnight, he emerges in a 
plain purple robe, and announces " Christos voscres I" 
Christ is risen. Then kisses of love are universally 
exchanged, and, most remarkable of all, the Metropolitan, 
on his hands and knees, crawls around the church, kissing 
the icons on the walls, the altars, and the tombs, and, 
through their then opened sepulchres, the incorruptible 
bodies of the saints. After this no meetings take place 
without the salutation " Christos voscres," and the answer, 
"Vo istine voscres " (He is risen). 

Of the many bells in the tower the most remarkable 
was the historic bell of Novogorod, which summoned the 
council of the Vetche to assemble, and which was carried 
off to Moscow by Ivan the Great ; it is now said to be lost. 
The square at the foot of the tower, and the pavement be- 

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Easter Days 

tween it and the cathedral, is still used at Easter as a place 
of assembly for religious disputations. 

Augustus J. C. Hare in Studies in Russia 

Easter in Jerusalem, 1835 *^ ^^ <^>- ^^ 

r T*HE Pilgrims begin to arrive in Palestine some weeks 
-*■ before the Easter festival of the Greek Church. 
They come from Egypt, from all parts of Syria, from 
Armenia and Asia Minor, from Stamboul, from Roumelia, 
from the province of the Danube, and from all the Russias. 
Most of these people bring with them some articles of 
merchandise, but I myself believe (notwithstanding the 
common taunt against pilgrims) that they do this rather as 
a mode of paying the expenses of their journey than from 
a spirit of mercenary speculation. They generally travel 
in families, for the women are of course more ardent than 
their husbands in undertaking these pious enterprises, 
and they take care to bring with them all their children, how- 
ever young, for the efficacy of the rites does not depend 
upon the age of the votary, so that people whose careful 
mothers have obtained for them the benefit of the pilgrim- 
age in early life are saved from the expense and trouble of 
undertaking the journey at a later age. The superior 
veneration so often excited by objects that are distant 
and unknown shows not perhaps the wrong headedness 
of a man but rather the transcent powers of his imagina- 
tion. However this may be, and whether it is by mere 
obstinacy that they poke their way through intervening 
distance, or whether they come by the winged strength 
of fancy, quite certainly the pilgrims who flock to Palestine 
from the most remote houses are the people most eager 

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The Book of Easter 

in the enterprise, and in number, too, they bear a very high 
proportion to the whole mass. 

The great bulk of the pilgrims make their way by sea 
to the port of Jaffa. A number of families will charter 
a vessel amongst them, all bringing their own provisions, 
which are of the simplest and cheapest kind. On board 
every vessel thus freighted there is, I believe, a priest, 
who helps the people in their religious exercises and tries 
(and fails) to maintain something like order and harmony. 
The vessels employed in this service are usually Greek 
brigs or brigantines, and schooners, and the number of 
passengers stowed in them is almost always horribly 
excessive. The voyages are sadly protracted, not only 
by the land-seeking, storm -flying habits of the Greek 
seamen, but also by their endless schemes and speculations, 
which are forever tempting them to touch at the nearest 
port. The voyage, too, must be made in winter, in order 
that Jerusalem may be reached some weeks before the 
Greek Easter, and thus by the time they attain the holy 
shrines the Pilgrims have really and truly undergone a 
respectable quantity of suffering. I once saw one of these 
pious cargoes put ashore on the coast of Cyprus, where 
they had touched for the purpose of visiting, not Paphos, 
but some Christian sanctuary. I never saw (no, never 
even in the most horribly stuffy ball room) such a dis- 
comfortable collection of human beings. Long huddled 
together in a pitching and rolling prison, fed on beans, 
exposed to some real danger and to terrors without end, 
they had been tumbled about for many wintery weeks in 
the chopping seas of the Mediterranean. As soon as 
they landed, they stood upon the beach and chanted a 
hymn of thanks; the chant was morne and doleful, 

7 6 



Easter Days 

but really the poor people were looking so miserable that 
one could not fairly expect from them any lively outpour- 
ing of gratitude. 

When the pilgrims have landed at Jaffa, they hire camels, 
horses, mules, or donkeys, and make their way as well as 
they can to the Holy City. The space fronting the Church 
of the Holy Sepulchre soon becomes a kind of bazaar, or 
rather, perhaps, reminds you of an English fair. On this 
spot the pilgrims display their merchandise, and there, 
too, the trading residents of the place offer their goods 
for sale. * I have never, I think, seen elsewhere in Asia 
so much commercial animation as upon this square of 
ground by the church door. The " money-changers " 
seemed to be almost as brisk and lively as if they had 
been within the temple. 

When I entered the church, I found a babel of worship- 
pers. Greek, Roman, and Armenian priests were perform- 
ing their different rites in various nooks and corners, and 
crowds of disciples were rushing about in all directions, 
some laughing and talking, some begging, but most of 
them going around in a regular and methodical way to 
kiss the sanctified spots and speak the appointed syllables 
and lay down the accustomed coin. If this kissing of the 
shrines had seemed as though it were done at the bidding 
of enthusiasm, or of any poor sentiment even feebly ap- 
proaching to it, the sight would have been less odd to Eng- 
lish eyes; but as it was, I stared to see grown men thus 
steadily and carefully embracing the sticks and the stones, 
not from love or from zeal (else God forbid that I should 
have stared), but from a calm sense of duty. They 
seemed to be not "working out," but transacting the great 
business of salvation. 

77 



The Book of Easter 

A Protestant, familiar with the Holy Scriptures, but 
ignorant of tradition and the geography of modern Jeru- 
salem, finds himself a good deal " mazed" when he first 
looks for the sacred sites. The Holy Sepulchre is not in 
a field without the walls, but in the midst and in the best 
part of the town, under the roof of the great church which 
I have been talking about ; it is a handsome tomb of oblong 
form partly subterranean and partly above ground and 
closed on all sides except the one by which it is entered. 
You descend into the interior by a few steps, and there 
find an altar with burning tapers: This is the spot which 
is held in greater sanctity than any* other at Jerusalem. 
When you have seen enough of it, you feel perhaps weary 
of the busy crowd and inclined for a gallop; you ask 
your dragoman whether there will be time before sunset 
to procure horses and take a ride to Mount Calvary. 
Mount Calvary, Signor ? — eccolo it is upstairs on the first 
floor. In effect you ascend it, if I remember rightly, just 
thirteen steps, and then you are shown the now golden 
sockets in which the crosses of our Lord and. the two 
thieves were fixed. All this is startling, but the truth is 
that the city having gathered round the Sepulchre, which 
is the main point of interest, has crept northward, and thus, 
in great measure, are occasioned the many geographical 
surprises that puzzle the " Bible Christian." 

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre comprises very 
compendiously almost all the spots associated with the 
closing career of our Lord. 

Just there on your right he stood and wept by the pillar ; 
on your left he was scourged ; on the spot just before you 
he was crowned with the crown of thorns ; up there he was 
crucified, and down here he was buried. A locality is 

78 



Easter Days 

assigned to even the minutest event connected with the 
recorded history of our Saviour; even the spot where the 
cock crew when Peter denied his Master is ascertained, 
and surrounded by the walls of an Armenian convent. 
Many Protestants are wont to treat these traditions con- 
temptuously, and those who distinguish themselves from 
their brethren by the appellation of "Bible Christians" 
are almost fierce in their denunciation of these supposed 
errors. 

Although the pilgrims perform their devotions at the 
several shrines with so little apparent enthusiasm, they 
are driven to the verge of madness by the miracle displayed 
before them on Easter Saturday. Then it is that the 
heaven-sent fires issue from the Holy Sepulchre. The 
Pilgrims all assemble in the great church, and already, 
long before the wonder is worked, they are wrought by 
anticipation of God's sign, as well as by their struggles 
for room and breathing space, to a most frightful state of 
excitement. At length the chief priest of the Greeks, 
accompanied (of all the people in the world) by the Turkish 
governor, enters the tomb. After this there is a long 
pause, and then suddenly from out of the small apertures 
on either side of the sepulchre there issue long, shining 
flames. The pilgrims now rush forward, madly struggling 
to light their tapers at the holy fire. This is the dangerous 
moment, and many lives are often lost. 

The year before that of my going to Jerusalem, Ibrahim 
Pasha, from some whim or motive of policy, chose to 
witness the miracle. The vast church was, of course, 
thronged, as it always is on that awful day. It seems that 
the appearance of the fire was delayed for a very long time, 
and that the growing frenzy of the people was heightened 

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The Book of Easter 

by suspense. Many, too, had already sunk under the effect 
of the heat and the stifling atmosphere, when at last the 
fire flashed from the sepulchre. Then a terrible struggle 
ensued ; many sunk and were crushed. Ibrahim had taken 
his station in one of the galleries, but now feeling, perhaps, 
his brave blood warmed by the sight and sound of such 
strife, he took upon himself to quiet the people by his 
personal presence, and descended into the body of the 
church with only a few guards. He had forced his way 
into the midst of the dense crowd, when unhappily he 
fainted away. His guards shrieked out, and the event 
instantly became known. A body of soldiers recklessly 
forced their way through the crowd that they might save 
the life of their general. Nearly two hundred people were 
killed in the struggle. 

The following year, however, the government took 
better measures for the prevention of these calamities. 
I was not present at the ceremony, having gone away from 
Jerusalem some time before, but I afterwards returned 
into Palestine, and I then learned that the day had passed 
off without any disturbance of a fatal kind. It is, however, 
almost too much to expect that so many ministers of peace 
can assemble without finding some occasion for strife, 
and in that year a tribe of wild Bedouins became the 
subject of discord. These men, it seems, led an Arab 
life in some of the desert tracts bordering on the neigh- 
borhood of Jerusalem, but were connected with any of 
the great ruling tribes. Some whim or notion of policy had 
induced them to embrace Christianity, but they were grossly 
ignorant of the rudiments of their adopted faith, and having 
no priest with them in their desert, they had as little knowl- 
edge of religious ceremonies as of religion itself. They were 

80 



Easter Days 

not even capable of conducting themselves in a place of wor- 
ship with ordinary decorum, but would interrupt the sendee 
with scandalous cries and warlike shouts. Such is the 
account the Latins give of them, but I never heard the other 
side of the question. These wild fellows, notwithstanding 
their entire ignorance of all religion, are yet claimed by the 
Greeks, not only as proselytes who have embraced Chris- 
tianity generally, but as converts to the particular doctrines 
and practice of their church. The people thus alleged to 
have concurred in the great schism of the Eastern Empire 
are never, I believe, within the walls of a church, or even of 
any building at all, except upon this occasion of Easter, and 
as they then never fail to find a row of some kind going on 
by the side of the sepulchre, they fancy, it seems, that the 
ceremonies there enacted are funeral games of a martial 
character held in honor of a deceased chieftain, and that a 
Christian festival is a peculiar kind of battle, fought between 
walls, and without cavalry. It does not appear, however, 
that these men are guilty of any ferocious acts, or that 
they attempt to commit depredations. The charge against 
them is merely that by their way of applauding the per- 
formance — by their horrible cries and frightful gestures — 
they destroy the solemnity of divine service ; and upon this 
ground the Franciscans obtained a firman for the exclusion 
of such tumultuous worshippers. The Greeks, however, 
did not choose to lose the aid of their wild converts merely 
because they w T ere a little backward in their religious educa- 
tion, and they, therefore, persuaded them to defie the firman 
by entering the city en masse and overawing their ene- 
mies. The Franciscans, as well as the government au- 
thorities, were obliged to give way, and the Arabs trium- 
phantly marched into the church. The festival, however, 
g 81 



The Book of Easter 

must have seemed to them rather flat, for, although there 
may have been some " casualties " in the way of eyes 
black and noses bloody and women " missing," there 
was no return of " killed." 

Formerly the Latin Catholics concurred in acknowledging 
(but not, I hope, in working) the annual miracle of the 
heavenly fire, but they have for many years withdrawn their 
countenance from the exhibition, and they now repudiate 
it as a trick of the Greek Church. Thus, of course, the 
violence of feeling with which the rival churches meet at 
the Holy Sepulchre on Easter Saturday is greatly increased, 
and a disturbance of some kind is certain. In the year 
I speak of, though no lives were lost, there was, as it seems, 
a tough struggle in the church. I was amused at hearing of 
a taunt that was thrown that day upon an English traveller. 
He had taken his station in a convenient part of the church, 
and was, no doubt, displaying that peculiar air of serenity 
and gratification with which an English gentleman usually 
looks on at a row, when one of the Franciscans came by, 
all reeking from the fight, and was so disgusted at the cool- 
ness and placid contentment of the Englishman (who 
was a guest at the convent) that he forgot his monkish 
humility, as well as the duties of hospitality, and plainly 
said : — 

"You sleep under our roof, you eat our bread, you 
drink our wine, and then when Easter Saturday comes 
you don't fight for us ! " 

Yet these rival churches go on quietly enough till their 
blood is up. The terms on which they live remind one 
of the peculiar relation subsisting at Cambridge between 
"town and gown." 

These contests and disturbances certainly do not origi- 
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Easter Days 

nate with the lay pilgrims, the great body of whom are, as I 
believe, quiet and inoffensive people. It is true, however, 
that their pious enterprise is believed by them to operate 
as a counterpoise for a multitude of sins, whether past or 
future, and perhaps they exact themselves in after life to 
restore the balance of good and evil. The Turks have a 
maxim which, like most cynical apothegms, carries with it 
the buzzing trumpet of falsehood as well as the small, fine 
11 sting of truth." " If your friend has made the pilgrimage 
once, distrust him; if he has made the pilgrimage twice, 
cut him dead ! " The caution is said to be as applicable to 
the visitants of Jerusalem as to those of Mecca, but I cannot 
help believing that the frailties of all the Hadjis, whether 
Christian or Mahometan, are greatly exaggerated. I cer- 
tainly regarded the pilgrims to Palestine as a well-disposed, 
orderly body of people, not strongly enthusiastic, but desir- 
ous to comply with the ordinances of their religion, and to 
attain the great end of salvation as quietly and economically 
as possible. 

When the solemnities of Easter are concluded, the pil- 
grims move off in a body to complete their good work by 
visiting the sacred scenes in the neighborhood of Jerusalem, 
including the wilderness of John the Baptist, Bethlehem, and, 
above all, the Jordan, for to bathe in those sacred waters 
is one of the chief objects of the expedition. All the pil- 
grims — men, women, and children — are submerged en 
chemise, and the saturated linen is carefully wrapped up 
and preserved as a burial dress that shall endure for sal- 
vation in the realms of death. 

A. W. Kinglake in Eothen 



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The Book of Easter 



In Rome under the Old Papal Regime, 1870 

A LTHOUGH I have revisited the well-loved city 
*•** several times since those early days, the first visit 
stands out so much more fully colored and intense in local 
sentiment than the subsequent ones, which seem almost 
insipid by comparison. You and I then saw her as she 
can never be seen again ; we were just in time to know her 
under the old papal regime, and we left three months before 
the Italians came in to rob her of her unique character. 
I cannot be too thankful that we have that put safely away 
in the treasury of our memories. We saw the Roman 
citizens kneeling in masses along the streets as the Pope's 
mounted Chasseurs in cocked hats and feathers heralded 
the approach of Pio Nono's ponderous coach, in which His 
Holiness was taking his afternoon airing. We saw the 
stately cardinals and bishops in their daily stroll on the 
Pincian, receiving the salutes of soldiers and civilians. 
There were such constant salutations everywhere, all day 
long, and such punctilious acknowledgments from the 
ecclesiastics that on closing my eyes at night I always 
saw shovel hats rising and sinking like flocks of crows 
hovering over a harvest field. 

We saw the sentries on Good Friday mounting guard with 
arms reversed and all the flags that day flying at half mast ; 
the Colosseum was in those days treated as consecrated 
ground, more as the scene of Christian martyrdoms than as 
a pagan antiquity. There stood the stations of the Cross, and 
there a friar preached every Wednesday during Lent. That 
fearsome ruin was then warmly lined with rich flora and va- 
rious lusty trees and shrubs that have all been scraped and 
scoured away in harmony with the spirit of modern Italy. 

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Easter Days 

What luck was it for us to be in Rome that wonderful 
year of 1870, when the Ecumenical Council filled her 
streets and churches with every type of episcopal eccle- 
siastic from the four quarters of the globe, each accom- 
panied by his " theologian" and by secretaries in every 
variety of dress, from the modern American to the pig- 
tailed Chinaman. Great times for the art student, with 
all these types and colors as subjects for his pencil. 
The characteristics and the color of Rome were thus 
multiplied and elaborated to the utmost possible point, up 
to the very verge of the great Cleavage ; and we saw it all. 

The open-air incidents connected with the great church 
functions have left an extraordinary vivid impression on 
my mind on account of their eminently pictorial qualities. 
I can see again the archaic " glass coaches" of Pope and 
cardinals, high swung and seeming to bubble over with 
gilding, rumbling slowly up to the church door where 
the ceremony is to take place, over the cobblestones, 
behind teams of fat black steeds, the leaders' scarlet 
traces sweeping the ground. The occupants of these 
wonderful vehicles are glowing like rubies in their ardent 
robes, which flood their faces with red reflections in the 
searching sunshine. A prelate in exquisite lilac, mounted 
on a white mule with black housings, bears a jewelled 
cross, sparkling in the sun, before the Pope's carriage; 
the postilions, coachmen, and lackeys are eighteenth - 
century figures come to life again, and, truth to tell, they 
might have brought their liveries over them, furbished up 
for the occasion. Not much public money seems appro- 
priated for new liveries in the papal household, nor in 
that of the College of Cardinals. Then, the medley of 
modern soldiers that took part officially and unofficially 

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The Book of Easter 

in these scenes — the off-duty zouaves, with bare necks 
outstretched, cheering frantically, "Long live the Pope- 
King," in many languages; the French Legion inclined 
to criticise the old liveries — it all seems, to me like the 
happening of yesterday! And I can see the rain of 
flowers falling on the kindly old Pope from the specta- 
tors in the balconies, where rich draperies give harmonious 
backgrounds to all this color. 

Finally, we saw the last papal benediction to be given 
from the facade of St. Peter's on that memorable Easter 
Sunday, 1870. The scene was made especially notable 
in its pictorial effect by the masses of bishops, all in snow- 
white copes and mitres, who completely rilled the terrace 
above the colonnade on the Vatican side of the Piazza. 
What a symphony of white they made up there, partly 
in the luminous shadow of the long awning, partly in the 
blazing sunshine. Some of the illuminated ones used their 
mitres as parasols. Such a huge parterre of prelates had 
never been beheld before. It was a parterre of human 
lilies. My diary exclaims, "Oh, for Leighton's genius 
to paint it ! " It was entirely in his style — composition, 
color, and sentiment. The balustrade was hung with 
mellow, old, faded tapestry, and above the bishops' heads 
rose those dark old stone statues that tell so well against 
the sky. I remember the moment of intense silence that 
fell on the multitude a little before Pio Nono, wearing the 
Triple Crown, stood up and in a loud voice gave forth 
"to the city and to the world" the mighty words of blessing 
from the little balcony far up aloft. And I remember, too, 
how that sudden silence seemed to cause a strange uneasi- 
ness amongst the cavalry and artillery horses, which all 
began to neigh. 

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Easter Days 

On this great day the white and yellow flag emblem of 
the Temporal Power, waved upon the light spring breeze 
wherever one turned. How little we dreamed that in a few 
months that flag was to be hauled down, drawn under by 
the fall of the greatest military empire then in existence ! 
Lady Butler 

in Sketch Book and Diary 

Easter in Greece ^^ ^^ ^^ "^ ^> ^^ 

T DO not propose to narrate the usual routine of a Greek 
■*■ Easter, the breaking of the long fast, the elaborately 
decorated lambs to be slaughtered for the meal, the noctur- 
nal services, and the friendly greetings, — of these every- 
body knows enough, — but first of all to take the reader to 
a convent dedicated to the life-saving virgin, the wonder 
of Amorgos. It is next to the wealthiest convent in Greece, 
owning all the richest lands in Amorgos and the neighbor- 
ing islands, besides possessions in Crete in the Turkish 
islands, etc. The position chosen for the convent is most 
extraordinary. A long line of cliff, about two miles from 
the town, runs sheer down one thousand feet into the sea ; 
a narrow road or ledge along the .coast leads along this 
cliff to the convent which is built halfway up. Nothing 
but the outer wall is visible as you approach. The church 
and cells are made inside the rock. From the balconies 
one looks deep down into the sea ; overhead towers the red 
rock, blackened for some distance by the smoke of the 
convent fires ; here and there are dotted holes in the rock, 
where hermits used to dwell in almost inaccessible eyries. 

We entered by a drawbridge, with fortifications against 
pirates, and were shown into the reception room, where 

8 7 



The Book of Easter 

the superior met us and conducted us to cells in the rock 
above, to the large storehouses below, and to the narrow 
church with its five magnificent silver icons, three of which 
were to be the object of such extraordinary veneration 
during Easter week. One adorns a portrait of the Madonna 
herself, found, they say, by some sailors in the sea below, 
and is beautifully embossed and decorated with silver; 
one of St. George Balsamitis, the patron saint of the pro- 
phetic source of Amorgos; and the other is an iron cross 
set in silver, and found, they say, on the heights of Mount 
Krytelos, a desolate mountain only visited by peasants, 
who go there to cut down its prickly evergreen oak as fodder 
for their mules. 

We were up and about early on Easter morning; the 
clanging of bells and the bustle beneath our windows made 
it impossible to sleep. Papa Demetrios came in dressed 
exceedingly smart in his best canonicals, to give us the 
Easter greeting. At nine o'clock we from the house of the 
demarch and all the world started forth on our pilgrimage 
to meet about halfway the holy icons from the convent. 
All the inhabitants of the island from villages far and near 
were assembled to do reverence. 

I was puzzled as to what could be the meaning of three 
round circles, like threshing-floors, left empty in the midst 
of the assemblage. All round were spread gay rugs, car- 
pets, and rich brocades ; every one seemed subdued by a 
sort of reverential awe. Papa Demetrios and two chosen 
priests set forth along the narrow way to the convent to 
fetch the icons, for no monk is allowed to participate in 
this great ceremony. So at the convent door year after 
year at Easter time the superior hands over to the three 
priests the three precious icons to be worshipped for a 

88 



Easter Days 

week. A standard led the way, the iron cross on a staff 
followed, the two pictures came next, and as they wended 
their way by the narrow path along the sea, the priests and 
their acolytes chanted monotonous music of praise. The 
crowd was now in breathless excitement as they were seen 
to approach, and as the three treasures were set up in the 
middle of the three threshing-floors, everybody prostrated 
himself upon his carpet and worshipped. Of the five 
thousand inhabitants of the island not one who was able 
to come was absent. 

Amidst the firing of guns and ringing of bells the icons 
were then conveyed into the town to the Church of Christ. 
Here vespers were sung before a crowded audience, and the 
first event of the feast was over. 

Monday dawned fair and bright, as days always do about 
Easter time in Greece. The event of the day was the ardu- 
ous climb of a long procession following the priests and 
icons up the steep ascent of Mount Elias. At the sum- 
mit is a small chapel dedicated to the prophet, and here 
tables were spread with food and wine to regale such of 
the faithful as could climb so far. 

My friend, the demarch, with whom I walked, felt serious 
inconvenience from such violent exercise; so we sat for a 
while on a stone while he related to me how in times of 
drought these icons would be borrowed from the convent 
to make a similar ascent to the summit of Mount Elias, 
and how the peasants would follow in crowds to kneel and 
pray for rain. 

It is strange how closely the Prophet Elias of the Christian 
ritual corresponds to Apollo, the sun-god ; the names of Elias 
and Helios possibly suggested the idea. When it thunders, 
they say Prophet Elias is driving in his chariot after dragons, 

8 9 



The Book of Easter 

and his temples, like those of Phoebus Apollo, are invariably 
set on high, and visited with great reverence in times of 
drought and deluge. 

The next day, Tuesday, the icons visited the once cele- 
brated Church of St. George Balsamitis, where is the oracle 
of Amorgos. At the beginning of the nineteenth century 
this oracle was consulted by thousands: sailors from the 
islands around would consult it before a voyage, young 
men and maidens would consult it before matrimony ; but 
during the piratical days which followed, the discovery was 
made that evil-intentioned men would work the oracle for 
their own ends. Despite all this the oracle is still much 
consulted by the credulous, and reminds one forcibly of 
the shrines of Delphi of old. 

Papa Anatolius demurred much about opening the 
oracle for me, fearing that I intended to scoff ; but at length 
I prevailed, and he put on his chasuble and went hurriedly 
through the liturgy to St. George before the altar. After 
this he took a tumbler, which he asked me carefully to 
inspect, and on my expressing satisfaction with its cleanness 
he proceeded to unlock a little chapel on the right side 
of the narthrex. Here was the sacred stream, which flows 
into a marble basin carefully kept clean. He filled the 
tumbler and examined its contents in the sun's rays with 
a microscope that he might read my destiny. He then 
returned to the steps of the altar and solemnly delivered 
his oracle of " health and success, but much controversy," 
according to certain unwritten rules which the priests of St. 
George hand down from one to another. The church of 
the oracle is rich and is filled with votive offerings from 
those whose visit to the oracle has been followed by happi- 
ness or success; most numerous are wedding wreaths and 

90 



Easter Days 

silver ships. Nowhere is one brought so closely face to face 
with the connecting links between heathendom and Chris- 
tendom as in Greece. 

We were all rather tired that evening on our return from 
the oracle, and when the bells failed to wake us early, I was 
not sorry that the icons had already started on pilgrimage 
to a distant place where I had already been. 

The Sunday next after Easter may be said to be the real 
festival, for on this day the icons returned to their homes ; 
the same crowd assembled to bid them farewell. Five 
hundred men then accompanied the three priests all the 
way to the convent along the narrow road, and the monks 
beneficently presented each with a basket of as much bread 
and cheese as he could carry, and this Easter dole took up 
well-nigh all the afternoon. 

Condensed from an article by Theodore T. Bent 
in Macmillan's Magazine 

When the Dead return in Japan ^* <^ ^> 

r ASKED to-day why the sea was so full of stars last 
*■ night — I had never noticed it at other times, but only 
in these three days. And then I was told the story of the 
Festival of the Dead, which I had heard spoken of in Tokyo 
in a scornful, superficial way, but which I hear is kept 
religiously in the provinces still. 

The dear dead 1 Little children and old people, and all 
the souls that pass out of earth's family day by day, dis- 
robed of their fair garment of the flesh, they love not the 
short winter days or the long dark winter nights ; but when 
summer broods over the land, when the night is welcome be- 
cause it brings a breath of coolness to those whose work is not 

9 1 



The Book of Easter 

yet over, then they who have laid by the wholesome tasks 
of earth come back in shadowy myriads to visit their 
old homes; to hover round those who still love and remem- 
ber them; to smile, if ghosts can smile, at the food and 
money, clothing and sandals, and little ships for travelling, 
all made ready by the loving souls to whom only such 
earthly needs are comprehensible, but who, in preparing 
their humble gifts, are investing them with the only presents 
the spirits may take home with them again — the gift of 
love, which never forgets, or disbelieves, or despairs. 

Just for these three days of July — the 13th, 14th, and 
15th — heart-broken mothers feel the little lost son or 
daughter close at hand, brought back perhaps by Jizo 
Sama, the god who watches over the spirits of little children. 
The lights are lit before the small ihal, the death tablet, set 
up in the place of honor, and inscribed with a name that 
the little one would not have turned from his play for here, 
that never passed his mother's lips till he was carried away 
from her — his dead name, the one by which his shadowy 
companions call him in the yonder world. Full of com- 
fort must these three days be for the faithful souls who are 
always yearning to offer some service or some token of love 
to the dead. Now they come back; and though no one 
sees them, they take their old places in their old homes. 
They find the house decked and garnished for their coming ; 
the lotus flower, never used save for their honor, is gathered 
and set by their shrine ; and many another lovely plant and 
sprig, all with symbolical meanings, are brought in. Rice 
and vegetables, fruit and cakes, are placed for them ; no ani- 
mal food is offered, as pure spirits would consider that a 
sinful nourishment ; but tea is poured out with punctilious 
ceremony in tiny cups at stated hours. In some towns there 

92 



Easter Days 

is a market or fair held expressly that people may buy all 
they need for the entertainment of the ghosts. As these 
always come from the sea, torches are stuck in the sands 
to show them where to land ; and when the three days are 
ended, and the travellers must go back, reluctantly, to their 
homes, then tiny ships are launched — straw ships of lovely 
and elaborate designs, freighted with dainty foods, and 
lighted by small lanterns. Incense, too, is burning before 
they set forth ; and then they go, by river or stream if the 
sea is distant, with their little cargo of love -gifts visible, 
and their spirit travellers invisible, back to their joy or their 
sorrow in the under world. 

Mary Crawford Fraser 

in Letters from Japan 

Egg-rolling in Washington *^ ^^ ^> ^> 

A /T ARCH and April in Washington spell for the adult 
-*-*-■• the perfection of a climate which at its best no capi- 
tal on earth can surpass. Color, fragrance, and an almost 
indefinable sense that the appropriate necessary mood is 
one of languid leisure are pervasive. The spring odors 
and flowers seem suddenly to flood the gardens and lawns. 
In the tiny six-by-two bed under a bay-window and in the 
stretches of living green by the river the daffodils have 
succeeded the crocus; hyacinths and flaring tulips fill the 
borders, and even the stems in the hedges are full of color. 
Over every tree there is a smoky veil where the swelling 
leaf-buds have blurred the winter tracery of bare twigs 
against the sky, but are not yet heavy enough to cast a 
shade. 
Only the children seem energetic, especially on Easter 

93 



The Book of Easter 

Monday, the great day for Washington babies. Along 
Pennsylvania Avenue they stream — well-dressed, nurse- 
attended darlings mingling with the raggedest little coons 
that ever snatched an egg from a market-basket. The 
wide street looks as if baby -blossom time had come, for there 
are hundreds of the children who on this special afternoon 
storm the grounds of the White House for their annual 
egg-rolling. Long ago the sport took place on the terraces 
below the Capitol, and a visitor to the city then wrote : — ■ 

"At first the children sit sedately in long rows; each 
has brought a basket of gay-colored, hard-boiled eggs, 
and those on the upper terrace send them rolling to the line 
on the next below, and these pass on the ribbon-like streams 
to other hundreds at the foot, who scramble for the hopping 
eggs and hurry panting to the top to start them down again. 
And as the sport warms those on top who have rolled all 
the eggs they brought finally roll themselves, shrieking with 
laughter. Now comes a swirl of curls and ribbons and 
furbelows, somebody's dainty maid indifferent to bumps 
and grass-stains. Over yonder a queer eight-limbed crea- 
ture, yelling, gasping, laughing, all at once, shakes itself 
apart into two slender boys racing toward the top to come 
down again. Another set of boys who started in a line of 
six with joined hands are trying to come down in somersaults 
without breaking the chain. On all sides the older folk 
stand by to watch the games of this infant Carnival which 
comes to an end only when the children are forced away 
by fatigue to the point of exhaustion, or by parental order. 
No one seems to know how the custom began." 

When the games proVed too hard a test for the grass on 
the Capitol terraces, Congress stopped the practice, and the 
President opened the slope back of the White House. No 

94 



Easter Days 

grown person is admitted unless accompanied by a child, 
but even under this restriction the annual crowd is great 
enough to threaten the survival of the event. 

Anonymous 

On the Island of Ischia ^^ ^> ^^ ^y ^> 

TT is only on Easter Day that the century-old ceremony 
-*- which may yet be seen in many parts of Italy remains 
unchanged. Between eleven and midday a dense crowd 
collects on either side of the principal street leading past 
the Church of St. Maria di Tareto. Along this road, borne 
on men's shoulders, two painted wooden statues slowly 
advance. They represent the figures of St. John and 
the Virgin Mary, whose face is covered by a thick black 
veil. Opposite to them comes the Brotherhood of St. 
Maria Visitapoveri in long, white surplice gowns; and 
in their midst is carried a large golden angel ; and last of 
all a figure of Christ, risen and triumphant. At a given 
signal the standard of the brotherhood is waved aside; 
the Christ remains stationary; and the angel, after bend- 
ing before Him in salute, turns and is carried at full speed 
through the passage left by the spectators to announce 
to the Virgin that her Son is risen. The Virgin refuses to 
believe, and the angel returns sadly to the Christ to tell 
Him of his unsuccess. Again sent to the Virgin, but all in 
vain, he again retires ; and yet again is sent upon His urgent 
mission to the Holy Mother, who now begins, half in doubt, 
to move slowly forward. Joyfully the angel reports this 
to the Son, who once more sends him to encourage St. 
John and His Mother, both of whom finally believe, and 
rush forward to see the great truth for themselves. During 

95 



The Book of Easter 

this curious bit of Miracle Play, the people continue to 
sing loudly the Regina Cxli; and at the meeting of 
Mother and Son the veil of the Virgin drops, pigeons and 
small birds are allowed to fly around, from every window 
and roof water wafers float down, and from the Campanili 
the bells announce that the ceremony is over. Then 
gradually the mass of human beings in their bright holiday 
garb seems to melt away like a dissolving kaleidoscope, 
and the streets resume their sleepy character. 

The contributions to cover the expenses of the religious 
festivals in Ischia are subscribed by emigrant Italians in 
America and at the Cape, but mostly by the peasants 
themselves, who would fain avert all evils that menace 
their land — plague, pestilence, and earthquake — by 
insuring themselves, their vineyards, houses, boats, and 
fish against every possible calamity, arguing that should 
the ground of Ischia quake again, St. Vito, if handsomely 
feted, should save at least a portion. It is their investment, 
and they believe implicitly in the interest it gives. 

There is a quaint fashion here attached to the use of 
eggs at Easter. On Palm Sunday it is the custom for a 
young affianced girl to send a gift of a hundred and one 
eggs and a branch of olive to her lover; and on the day 
of St. Restituta, May 17, the grateful lover sends her in 
return twelve pounds of torrone, a sweet-meat peculiar 
to Italy, made of honey and almonds, and harder than 
most stones. 

A young fellow asked this favor of an egg one day as 
he looked up at the window of a mischievous girl. "Ma 
certo," she answered, and fetching one fresh and raw, 
broke it neatly over his face. But far from discouraging 
him, this proceeding rilled him with such hope and de- 

96 




.4 nderson. 



EASTER CAROLS. 



Easter Days 

termination that they were speedily married, and have 
now a merry family of children, both parents probably 
believing it was one of the substantial sources of their 
prosperity. 

Sybil Fitzgerald 

in Naples 

The Russian Easter ^y ^> <o ^> ^> 

/^\F the northern countries, Russia is the one which 
^-^ continues to attach a national and strictly orthodox 
importance to the several seasons of Carnival, Lent, and 
Easter. Carnival, or " Butter Week," as the Russians 
call it, is a general holiday. As with the old customs of the 
Western Carnivals, there are pagan relics in the Russian 
festival too. But the relics of paganism in Russia have 
often an extraordinary blending of Scandinavian and 
Asiatic myths, under a veneer of Christianity. There is 
nothing here that recalls either Greece or Rome. 

In the country districts a fantastic figure called Masslia- 
nitsa (Butter Goddess) is prepared for Carnival week. The 
peasants drive it about upon a gayly decorated sledge, 
singing special songs and horovode (folk choruses) reserved 
for this special season. At the end of the week the Butter 
Goddess, which is not unlike English Guy Fawkes, is 
burnt, and formal farewell is bidden to pleasure for the 
week that precedes Easter. In the towns the favorite amuse- 
ment of the people during Carnival week is sought on the 
exhilarating artificial ice hills. Unsweetened pancakes, or 
blinni, constitute the chief daily dish in every household. 
Educated Russians have now to a certain degree emanci- 
pated themselves from the strict penance and abstinence 
prescribed during Lent by the Orthodox Church, which 

H 97 






The Book of Easter 

forbids even fish on many days and during Lent week. 
The imperial theatres, however, usually remain closed for 
the forty days, dances and big social functions also cease, 
and, in the provinces, billiards, cards, and gambling are 
tabooed in the restaurants and clubs. Concerts are al- 
lowed, at which secular music is permitted. The term so 
familiar to English ears of so-called " sacred" music is 
unknown to the Russian, by the way. To his ear all good 
music is sacred. One week of Lent even the most lax 
Russians usually elect to keep rigorously. It is generally 
Holy Week. The churches are then crowded with peni- 
tents of both sexes, seeking absolution for their sins. Pre- 
vious to approaching the confessional a quaint and rather 
touching custom obtains during this week, namely, the 
habit of asking the forgiveness of one's neighbors for any 
slight or wrong committed towards them. 

With Easter Eve dawns the principal and most solemn 
Russian festival of the whole year, alike for rich and poor. 
At the midnight mass every church is ablaze with candle 
light; the shrines and icons are brilliantly illuminated, 
and each member of the congregation bears a lighted 
wax taper. The military and state officials appear in 
parade uniform ; civilians and fashionable ladies in evening 
dress; the people in holiday attire. After the midnight 
benediction comes the blessing of the "passka" (the break- 
ing-fast bread), consisting of a small saffron cake, a toy 
pyramid of stiff curds, and an egg, products of the three 
representative geneses of man's food — the Earth, the Cow, 
and the Fowl. The egg — the shell of which is broken 
by the newly hatched chicken — is the emblem of Christ's 
Resurrection from the Tomb. This trifle " bread" offer- 
ing is brought by the more pious of the worshippers for the 

9 8 



Easter Days 

priest's blessing, and carried home after mass, to be placed 
on the festive Easter breakfast table as a symbol that the 
Lenten fast is at an end. 

What Christmas boxes are to the English, or les etrennes 
to the French on New Year's Day, Easter gifts are to the 
Russians. 

At Easter the Russians not only celebrate the miraculous 
Resurrection of the Son of God and their own spiritual 
awakening from the bonds of sin, but the festival also sug- 
gests to them in a very eloquent manner the resurrection of 
the whole earth and the release of all the agencies of nature 
from the enthralment of winter. Nowhere more than in 
the vast expanse of Northern Russia is this annually recur- 
ring lesson of the physical world so forcibly inculcated. 
For there perhaps more than anywhere on the face of the 
globe, the prolonged winter, with its frost and snow, abruptly 
disappears and is replaced by a verdant spring, almost sum- 
mer-like in its suddenness of warmth and sunshine. 

The Saturday Review 

Easter Day ^^ *^ *^y ^* ^> ^q* 

"\ 1 7TEEP not beside His tomb, 

^ * Ye women unto whom 
He was great comfort and yet greater grief; 
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam, 
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home ; 
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief; 

Though He be dead, He is not dead ; 

Not gone, though fled; 

Not lost, though vanished; 

Though He return not, though 

99 



The Book of Easter 

He lies and moulders low; 
In the true creed 
He is yet risen indeed; 
Christ is yet risen. 

Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground, 

Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around. 

Whate'er befell, 

Earth is not hell ; 
Now, too, as when it first began, 
Life is yet life, and man is man. 
For all that breathe beneath the heaven's high cope, 
Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope. 
Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief; 
Or, at least, faith unbelief, 

Though dead, not dead ; 

Not gone, though fled ; 

Not lost, though vanished. 

In the great gospel and true creed, 

He is yet risen indeed; 
Christ is yet risen. 

Arthur Hugh Clough. 



ioo 



Ill 

EASTER HYMNS 



rife 






EASTER HYMNS 

An Easter Carol 

Lord of the Living 

Risen 

Jesus Christ is risen To-day 

The Strife is o'er, the Battle Done 

Through the Long, Hidden Years 

Eastertide 

Christ is Risen ! Lift the Song 

The World itself keeps Easter Day 

Ye Happy Bells of Easter Day 

Christ the Lord is risen To-day 

Morn's Roseate Hues 

Easter Week 

The Tempest Over and Gone 

Easter Carol 




r EAD us, O Shepherd true, 
J — 4 Thy mystic sheep, we sue; 

Lead us, O holy Lord, 

Who from Thy sons dost ward, 

With all -prevailing charm, 

Peril and curse and harm; 

O Path where Christ hath trod, 

O Way that leads to God, 

O Word abiding aye, 

O endless Light on high, 

Mercy's fresh -springing flood, 

Worker of all things good, 

O glorious Life of all 

That on their Maker call, — 
Christ Jesus, hear. 

From the First Christian Hymn, ascribed to Clement of 
Alexandria about 215 a.d. Translated by Dean 
Plumtre 



104 



An Easter Carol ^^ ^* -^ ^> ^> ^^ 

T 1 7HAT shall the song of Easter be ? 

* * Moses' and Miriam's song by the sea ! 
"The Lord hath triumphed gloriously." 

To-day Life won triumphantly 
The final fight with Death, for He 
Who won this glorious victory, 

He rose to-day, to "die no more"; 
He vanquished in this holy war 
Death's old "dominion," heretofore 

Unbroken. So our song shall be, 
Glory to Him Who set us free, 
From Death's relentless tyranny. 

Gladly our voices let us raise, 

In chant and psalm and hymn and praise, 

To Him Who won in wondrous ways; 

Dying, to conquer death, that we, 
Fearless in death, may also be 
"Among the dead," as He was, "free"; 

And learn the power of Jesus' strife. 

That through death comes the perfect life, 

With joys eternal rich and rife. 

And the earth that opens its thousand graves, 

To make the sleeping seeds; and the waves 

Of the loosened brook that the meadow laves; 

io5 



The Book of Easter 

And the tiny chirp from the vocal nest, 

No longer warm with the mother's breast, 

Eager with wakening life's new zest, 

Blend with the carol of all the rest, 

And join in the song to Him Who saves, 

From death, through death; each living thing, 

To its own perfect life to bring; 

Our conquering, risen, ascended King. 

William Cro swell Doane 
in The Churchman, 1908 

Lord of the Living *^ ^> -^ ^Qy ^> 

" That He might be Lord of the dead and of the living." 

Romans xiv. 9 

T ORD of the dead, Who from the Tree 

-■ — 4 Didst reign in wondrous majesty, 
Whom earth and sky their sovereign owned, 
Thorn-crowned upon Thy cross enthroned; 
Thou only "free among the dead," 
Lead on; we follow, safely led; 
As Joseph, Israel's hosts before, 
So Jesus leads death's deep sea o'er. 

Lord of the living ! Paradise 
Still glows in sweet and strange surprise; 
Since Thou proclaimedst liberty 
To saints that waited long for Thee. 
The King in all His beauty now 
They patient see, and bending low 
Beneath the altar, cry "how long" 
Ere we Thy royal courts may throng? 
106 



Easter Hymns 

Lord of the living ! Higher far 
The glories of Thy conquest are; 
"God of the living," not "the dead," 
Since all men live in Thee, their Head. 
God-Man, enthroned above the skies, 
One day Thy buried saints shall rise, 
In Thy glad service to abide, 
And with Thy likeness satisfied. 

William Cro swell Doane 



Risen *^> ^^ ^> ^^ x; ^> ^> ^> / ^> 

' I "HEY came, bringing spices at the break of the day 
■** With hearts heavy-laden and sore, 
And lo, from the tomb was the stone rolled away, 

An angel sat there by the door ! 
"Why seek ye the living 'mid emblems of death? 
Not here, He is risen," the shining one saith. 

O type through the ages and symbol of faith, 

Whose spirit is true evermore: 
The hearts we have cherished we lose not in death, 

The grave over love hath no power. 
There sitteth the angel, there speaketh the word — 
"Not here, they are risen," in silence is heard. 

O ye who still watch in the valley of tears 

And wait for the night to go by, 
Lift, lift up your eyes, on the mountains appears 

The day-spring of God from on high ! 
107 



The Book of Easter 

He turneth the shadows of night into day; — 

"Not here, they are risen,'' His shining ones say. 

Frederic L. Hosmer 

in The Thought of God 
By permission of the author 



Jesus Christ is risen To-day *o -o ^y ^> 

TESUS CHRIST is risen to-day, 
J Alleluia ! 

Our triumphant holy day, 

Alleluia ! 
Who did once upon the cross, 

Alleluia ! 
Suffer to redeem our loss. 

Alleluia ! Amen. 

Hymns of praise then let us sing 
Unto Christ, our heavenly King, 
Who endured the cross and grave, 
Sinners to redeem and save. 
Alleluia ! 

But the pains which He endured, 
Our salvation hath procured; 
Now above the sky He's King, 
Where the angels ever sing 
Alleluia ! 

Sing we to our God above 
Praise eternal as His love; 
108 



Easter Hymns 

Praise Him, all ye heavenly host, 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; 
Alleluia ! Amen. 
From Lyra Davidica. Author and translator unknown 

The Strife is o'er, the Battle Done ^> ^^ 

A LLELUIA! Alleluia! Alleluia! 

The strife is o'er, the battle done; 
The victory of life is won; 
The song of triumph has begun. 
Alleluia! Amen. 

The powers of death have done their worst, 
But Christ their legions hath dispersed; 
Let shout of holy joy outburst. 
Alleluia \- 

The three sad days are quickly sped; 
He rises glorious from the dead; 
All glory to our risen Head ! 
Alleluia ! 

He closed the yawning gates of hell; 
The bars from heaven's high portals fell; 
Let hymns of praise His triumphs tell. 
Alleluia ! 

Lord ! by the stripes which wounded Thee, 
From death's dread sting Thy servants free, 
That we may live, and sing to Thee 
Alleluia ! Amen. 

Translated by Francis Pott 
109 



The Book of Easter 

Through the Long, Hidden Years ^* ^y -^ 

'T^HROUGH the long, hidden years Thou hast sought 
-*- me, 

A child of expectance and tears; 
Through the twilight of stars Thou hast brought me, 
Through doubting and manifold fears. 

True, the bright Paschal moon shone out clearly, 

And songs of the feast filled the air, 
But the Temple the ancients loved dearly, 

Oh, something was still wanting there ! 

All its types and dim shadows but lead me 

Where now at Thy pure Altar-throne, 
With Thyself, Bread of Life, Thou dost feed me, 

And makest me one of Thine own. 

O the beautiful stars are all paling, 

The bright Paschal moon sails away, 
All the types and dim shadows are failing 

At break of this wonderful day ! 

W. Chatterton Dix 



Eastertide o ^> ^ ^> ^> ^y *^> 

/^^HRIST is risen ! Christ is risen ! 
^^ He hath burst His bonds in twain; 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 
Alleluia ! swell the strain ! 

For our gain He suffered loss 
By Divine decree, 
no 



Easter Hymns 



He hath died upon the cross, 
But our God is He. 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 

He hath burst His bonds in twain; 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 

Alleluia ! swell the strain ! Amen. 

See, the chains of death are broken; 
Earth below and heaven above 
Joy in each amazing token 

Of His rising, Lord of love; 
He forevermore shall reign 

By the Father's side, 
Till He comes to earth again, 
Comes to claim His bride. 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 

He hath burst His bonds in twain; 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 
Alleluia ! swell the strain ! 

Glorious angels downward thronging. 

Hail the Lord of all the skies; 

Heaven, with joy and holy longing 

For the Word incarnate, cries, 

" Christ is risen! Earth, rejoice! 

Gleam, ye starry train ! 
All creation, find a voice; 
He o'er all shall reign." 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 

He hath burst His bonds in twain; 
Christ is risen ! Christ is risen ! 

O'er the universe to reign. Amen. 

Archer T. Gurney 
hi 



The Book of Easter 

Christ is Risen ^> ^> ^^ ^> ^> ^^ 

/^HRIST is risen ! Lift the song 
^^ Of our Easter gladness; 
With the bright triumphant throng 

Cast away all sadness, 
Springtide flowers tell us how 

We must leave the sighing, 
As we pass the sorrow now 

Of our earthly dying. 

Lo, the Marys in the gloom 

Weeping, bowed with sorrow, 
Little dreaming at the Tomb 

What their joy to-morrow — 
Whom they sought the Lord they found 

Now no more in sadness ; — 
Where did woe and grief abound 

There He brought the gladness ! 

Lo, that eve in sorrow went 

Two disciples walking, 
All their mind on Jesus bent, 

Of His Passion talking — 
Till a Stranger on the road 

To those hearts now burning, 
Told of suffering here for God 

Into Glory turning! 

Lo, the Apostles met in fear 

That same sorrow bearing 
Till the Master came to hear 

They His grief were sharing — 

112 



Easter Hymns 

And through doors fast closed, once dead, 

He appeared, who ever, 
Loved them to the end, He said, 

And would leave them never. 

Lo, in all our sorrow here, 

Often deep repining, 
Through all doubt and darksome fear 

Easter sun is shining — 
Wherefore now on things above 

Set we our affection — 
Know the power of Jesus' Love 

By His Resurrection ! 
Gladsome birds, fresh breezes tell 

With the sunny weather 
That dear Creed we love so well, 

"All things rise together," — 
So the angels joyfully 

Taught the wondrous story, — 
" Christ is risen ! To Galilee 

Go and preach His Glory ! " 

Anonymous 



v 



The World itself keeps Easter Day ^ ^^ 

^HE world itself keeps Easter Day, 
And Easter larks are singing; 
And Easter flow'rs are blooming gay. 
And Easter buds are springing. 
Alleluia! Alleluia! 
The Lord of all things lives anew, 
And all His works are living too. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 

I 113 



The Book of Easter 

There stood three Marys by the tomb, 

On Easter morning early — 
When day had scarcely chased the gloom, 
And dew was white and pearly. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
With loving, but with erring, mind 
They came the Prince of Life to find ; 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 

But earlier still the angel sped, 

His news of comfort giving; 
And "Why," he said, "among the dead 
Thus seek ye for the living?" 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
"Go tell them all, and make them blest, 
Tell Peter first, and then the rest." 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 

But one, and one alone, remained, 
With love that could not vary; 
And thus a higher joy she gained, 
That sometime sinner, Mary. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 
The first the dear, dear form to see 
Of Him that hung upon the tree. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 

The world itself keeps Easter Day, 
And Easter larks are singing; 

And Easter flowers are blooming gay, 
And Easter buds are springing. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 

114 



Easter Hymns 

The Lord of all things lives anew, 
And all His works are living too. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! 

John Mason Neale 



Ye Happy Bells of Easter Day ^> ^ ^> 

\/E happy bells of Easter Day! 
-*■ Ring ! ring ! your joy 
Thro' earth and sky, 
Ye ring a glorious word — 
The notes that swell in gladness tell, 
The rising of the Lord. 

Ye carol bells of Easter Day ! 

The teeming earth, 

That saw His birth 

When lying 'neath the sward, 

Upspringing now in joy, to show 

The rising of the Lord ! 

Ye glory bells of Easter Day ! 
The hills that rise 
Against the skies, 
Reecho with the word — 
The victor breath that conquers death — 
The rising of the Lord ! 

Ye passion bells of Easter Day ! 
The bitter cup, 
He lifted up, 

"5 



The Book of Easter 

Salvation to afford. 
Ye saintly bells ! your passion tells 
The rising of the Lord ! 

Ye mercy bells of Easter Day ! 
His tender side 
Was riven wide, 
Where floods of mercy poured; 
Redeemed clay doth sing today 
The rising of the Lord ! 

Ye victor bells of Easter Day! 
The thorny crown 
He layeth down: 
Ring ! Ring ! with strong accord — 
The mighty strain of love and pain, 
The rising of the Lord ! 

Adapted by R. R. Chope 

from an anonymous hymn 



Christ the Lord is risen To-day ^y ^y ^> 

/^HRIST the Lord is risen to-day, 
^^ Sons of men, and angels say; 
Raise your joys and triumphs high! 
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply! 

Love's redeeming work is done, 
Fought the fight, the battle won; 
Lo, our sun's eclipse is o'er; 
Lo, he sets in blood no more. 



Easter Hymns 

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal; 
Christ hath burst the gates of hell; 
Death in vain forbids his rise; 
Christ hath opened paradise. 

Lives again our glorious King; 

" Where, O Death, is now thy sting?" 

Once he died our souls to save; 

" Where's thy victory, boasting Grave?" 

Soar we now where Christ has led, 
Following our exalted Head; 
Made like Him, like Him we rise; 
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies! 

Charles Wesley 



Morn's Roseate Hues ^ ^^ ^> ^> *^ 
A LLELUIA! Alleluia! Alleluia! 

Morn's roseate hues have decked the sky; 
The Lord has risen with victory; 
Let earth be glad, and raise the cry: 
Alleluia. 

The Prince of Life with death has striven, 
To cleanse the earth His blood has given, 
Has rent the veil, and opened heaven; 
Alleluia. 

And He, the wheat-corn, sown in earth, 
Has given a glorious harvest birth; 
Rejoice and sing with holy mirth 
Alleluia. 
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The Book of Easter 

Our bodies, mouldering to decay, 
Are sown to rise to heavenly day; 
For He by rising burst the way: 
Alleluia. 

And he, dear Lord, that with Thee dies, 
And fleshly passions crucifies, 
In body, like to Thine, shall rise: 
Alleluia. 

Oh, grant us, then, with Thee to die, 
To spurn earth's fleeting vanity, 
And love the things above the sky: 
Alleluia. 

Oh, praise the Father and the Son, 
Who has for us the triumph won, 
And Holy Ghost, — the Three in One: 
Alleluia. 

William Cooke 



Easter Week *^ ^ <^ ^ ^> <^ 

OEE the land, her Easter keeping, 
^ Rises as her Maker rose. 
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping, 

Burst at last from winter snows. 
Earth with heaven above rejoices, 

Fields and gardens hail the spring; 
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices, 

While the wild birds build and sing. 
118 



Easter Hymns 

You, to whom your Maker granted 

Powers to those sweet birds unknown, 
Use the craft by God implanted; 

Use the reason not your own. 
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices, 

Each his Easter tribute bring — 
Work of fingers, chant of voices, 

Like the birds who build and sing. 

Charles Kingsley 



The Tempest Over and Gone o *^y *o 

/ T V HE tempest over and gone, the calm begun, 
-*■ Lo, "it is finished/' and the Strong Man sleeps: 
All stars keep vigil watching for the sun, 
The moon her vigil keeps. 

A garden full of silence and of dew 

Beside a virgin cave and entrance stone: 

Surely a garden full of angels too, 
Wondering, on watch, alone. 

They who cry, "Holy, Holy, Holy," still, 

Veiling their faces round God's throne above, 

May well keep vigil on this heavenly hill 
And cry their cry of love. 

Adoring God in His new mystery 

Of Love more deep than hell, more strong than death ; 
Until the day break and the shadows flee, 
The Shaking and the Breath. 

Christina G. Rossetti 
119 



The Book of Easter 

Easter Carol ^> ^> ^^ ^> *^ ^^ ^> 

f~\ EARTH ! throughout thy borders 
^-^ Re-don thy fairest dress; 
And everywhere, O Nature ! 

Throb with new happiness; 
Once more to new creation 

Awake, and death gainsay, 
For death is swallowed up of life, 

And Christ is risen to-day ! 

Let peals of jubilation 

Ring out in all the lands; 
With hearts of deep elation 

Let sea with sea clasp hands; 
Let one supreme Te Deum 

Roll round the world's highway, 
For death is swallowed up of life, 

And Christ is risen to-day ! 

George Newell Lovejoy 



I20 



IV 

EASTER STORIES 



HPHE natural life is the immortal life. You know a little 
-*- more truth ; then a little more obedience, then more 
truth ; forever so. But all depends on being in earnest. 

Phillips Brooks 



124 



The Myth of Demeter and Persephone -^ >^ 

(The Homeric Hymn, to which the historian Grote 
has assigned a date at least as early as 600 B.C.) 

" T BEGIN the song of Demeter" — says the prize-poet, 
•*• or the Interpreter, the Sacristan of the holy places — 
"the song of Demeter and her daughter Persephone 
whom Aidoneus carried away by the consent of Zeus, as 
she played, apart from her mother, with the deep-bosomed 
daughters of the Ocean, gathering flowers in a meadow 
of soft grass — roses and the crocus and fair violets and 
flags, and hyacinths, and, above all, the strange flower of 
the narcissus, which the Earth, favoring the desire of 
Aidoneus, brought forth for the first time, to snare the 
footsteps of the flower-lika girl. A hundred heads of blos- 
som grew up from the roots of it, and the sky and the earth 
and the salt wave of the sea were glad at the scent thereof. 
She stretched forth her hands to take the flower; thereupon 
the earth opened, and the king of the great nation of the 
dead sprang out with his immortal horses. He seized 
the unwilling girl, and bore her away weeping, on his 
golden chariot. She uttered a shrill cry, calling upon her 
father Zeus; but neither man nor god heard her voice, 
nor even the nymphs of the meadow where she played; 
except Hecate only, the daughter of Persaeus, sitting, 
as ever, in her cave, half veiled with a shining veil, thinking 
delicate thoughts; she, and the Sun also, heard her. 

"So long as she could still see the earth, and the sky, 
and the sea with the great waves moving, and the beams 
of the sun, and still thought to see again her mother, and 
the race of the ever-living gods, so long hope soothed her, 

125 



The Book of Easter 

in the midst of her grief. The peaks of the hills and the 
depths of the sea echoed her cry. And the mother heard 
it. A sharp pain seized her at the heart; she plucked 
the veil from her hair, and cast down the blue hood from 
her shoulders, and fled forth like a bird, seeking Per- 
sephone over dry land and sea. But neither man nor god 
would tell her the truth; nor did any bird come to her as 
a sure messenger. 

"Nine days she wandered up and down upon the earth, 
having blazing torches in her hands; and, in her great 
sorrow, she refused to taste of ambrosia, or of the cup 
of the sweet nectar, nor washed her face. But when the 
tenth morning came, Hecate met her, having a light in 
her hands. But Hecate had heard the voice only, and had 
seen no one, and could not tell Demeter who had borne 
the girl away. And Demeter said not a word, but fled 
away swiftly with her, having the blazing torches in her 
hands, till they came to the Sun, the watchman both. of 
gods and men; and the goddess questioned him, and the 
Sun told her the whole story. 

"Then a more terrible grief took possession of Demeter, 
and, in her anger against Zeus, she forsook the assembly 
of the gods and abode among men, for a long time veiling 
her beauty under a worn countenance, so that none who 
looked upon her knew her, until she came to the house 
of Celeus, who was then king of Eleusis. In her sorrow, 
she sat down at the wayside by the virgin's well, where the 
people of Eleusis come to draw water, under the shadow 
of an olive tree. She seemed as an aged woman whose 
time of child-bearing is gone by, and from whom the gifts 
of Aphrodite have been withdrawn, like one of the hired 
servants, who nurse the children or keep house, in kings' 

126 



Easter Stories 

palaces. And the daughters of Celeus, four of them, like 
goddesses, possessing the flower of their youth, Callidice, 
Clesidice, Demo, and Callithoe the eldest of them, coming 
, to draw water that they might bear it in their brazen 
pitchers to their father's house, saw Demeter and knew 
her not. The gods are hard for men to recognize. 

"They asked her kindly what she did there, alone; 
and Demeter answered, dissemblingly, that she was 
escaped from certain pirates, who had carried her from 
her home and meant to sell her as a slave. Then they 
prayed her to abide there while they returned to the palace, 
to ask their mother's permission to bring her home. 

"Demeter bowed her head in assent; and they, having 
filled their shining vessels with water, bore them away, 
rejoicing in their beauty. They came quickly to their 
father's house, and told their mother what they had seen 
and heard. Their mother bade them return, and hire 
the woman for a great price;' and they, like the hinds or 
young heifers leaping in the fields in spring, fulfilled with 
the pasture, holding up the folds of their raiment, sped 
along the hollow roadway, their hair, in color like the 
crocus, floating about their shoulders as they went. They 
found the glorious goddess still sitting by the wayside, 
unmoved. Then they led her to their father's house; 
and she, veiled from head to foot, in her deep grief, fol- 
lowed them on the way, and her blue robe gathered itself 
as she walked, in many folds about her feet. They came 
to the house, and passed through the sunny porch, where 
their mother, Metaneira, was sitting against one of the 
pillars of the roof, having a young child in her bosom. 
They ran up to her; but Demeter crossed the threshold, 
and, as she passed through, her head rose and touched 

127 



The Book of Easter 

the roof, and her presence filled the doorway with a divine 
brightness. 

u Still they did not wholly recognize her. After a time 
she was made to smile. She refused to drink wine, but 
tasted of a cup mingled of water and barley, flavored with 
mint. It happened that Metaneira had lately borne a 
child. It had come beyond hope, long after its elder 
brethren, and was the object of a peculiar tenderness 
and of many prayers with all. Demeter consented to 
remain and become the nurse of this child. She took 
the child in her immortal hands, and placed it in her 
fragrant bosom; and the heart of the mother rejoiced. 
Thus Demeter nursed Demophoon. And the child 
grew like a god, neither sucking the breast, nor eating 
bread; but Demeter daily anointed it with ambrosia, 
as if it had indeed been the child of a god, breathing 
sweetly over it and holding it in her bosom; and at 
nights, when she lay alone with the child, she would hide 
it secretly in the red strength of the fire, like a brand; 
for her heart yearned towards it, and she would fain have 
given to it immortal youth. 

"But the foolishness of his mother prevented it. For 
a suspicion growing up within her, she awaited her time, 
and one night peeped in upon them, and thereupon cried 
out in terror at what she saw. And the goddess heard 
her; and a sudden anger seizing her, she plucked the child 
from the fire and cast it on the ground, — the child she 
would fain have made immortal, but who must now share 
the common destiny of all men, though some inscrutable 
grace should still be his, because he had lain for a while 
on the knees and in the bosom of the goddess/ 

"Then Demeter manifested herself openly. She put 
128 



Easter Stories 

away the mask of old age, and changed her form, and the 
spirit of beauty breathed about her. A fragrant odor 
fell from her raiment, and her flesh shone from afar; the 
long yellow hair descended waving over her shoulders, 
and the great house was filled as with the brightness of 
lightning. She passed out through the halls; and Meta- 
neira fell to the earth, and was speechless for a long time 
and remembered not to lift the child from the ground. 
But the sisters, hearing its piteous cries, leapt from their 
beds and ran to it. Then one of them lifted the child from 
the earth, and wrapped it in her bosom, and another 
hastened to her mother's chamber to awake her; they came 
round the child, and washed away the flecks of the fire from 
its panting body, and kissed it tenderly all about; but the 
anguish of the child ceased not; the arms of other and 
different nurses were about to enfold it. 

"So, all night, trembling with fear, they sought to pro- 
pitiate the glorious goddess; and in the morning they 
told all to their father, Celeus. And he, according to the 
commands of the goddess, built a fair temple; and all 
the people assisted; and when it was finished every man 
departed to his own home. Then Demeter returned, 
and sat down within the temple walls, and remained still 
apart from the company of the gods, alone in her wasting 
regret for her daughter Persephone. 

"And, in her anger, she sent upon the earth a year of 
grievous famine. The dry seed remained hidden in the 
soil; in vain the oxen drew the ploughshare through the 
furrows; much white seed-corn fell fruitless on the earth, 
and the whole human race had like to have perished, and 
the gods had no more service of men, unless Zeus had 
interfered. First he sent Iris, afterwards all the gods, 
K 129 



The Book of Easter 

one by one, to turn Demeter from her anger; but none 
was able to persuade her; she heard their words with a 
hard countenance, and vowed by no means to return to 
Olympus, nor to yield the fruit of the earth, until her 
eyes had seen her lost daughter again. Then, last of all, 
Zeus sent Hermes into the kingdom of the dead, to per- 
suade Aidoneus to suffer his bride to return to the light of 
day. And Hermes found the king at home in his palace, 
sitting on a couch, beside the shrinking Persephone, con- 
sumed within herself by desire for her mother. A doubtful 
smile passed over the face of Aidoneus ; yet he obeyed the 
message, and bade Persephone return; yet praying her 
a little to have gentle thoughts of him, nor judge him too 
hardly, who was also an immortal god. And Persephone 
arose up quickly in great joy; only, ere she departed, 
he caused her to eat a morsel of sweet pomegranate, 
designing secretly thereby, that she should not remain 
always upon earth, but might some time return to him. 
And Aidoneus yoked the horses to his chariot; and Per- 
sephone ascended into it; and Hermes took the reins 
in his hands and drove out through the infernal halls; 
and the horses ran willingly; and they two quickly passed 
over the ways of that long journey, neither the waters of 
the sea, nor of the rivers, nor the deep ravines of the hills, 
nor the cliffs of the shore, resisting them ; till at last Her- 
mes placed Persephone before the door of the temple where 
her mother was ; who, seeing her, ran out quickly to meet 
her, like a maenad coming down a mountain side, dusky 
with woods. 

"So they spent all that day together in intimate com- 
munion, having many things to hear and tell. Then Zeus 
sent to them Rhea, his venerable mother, the oldest of 

I3Q 



Easter Stories 

divine persons, to bring them back reconciled, to the 
company of the gods; and he ordained that Persephone 
should remain two parts of the year with her mother, 
and one third part only with her husband, in the king- 
dom of the dead. So Demeter suffered the earth to yield 
its fruits once more, and the land was suddenly laden with 
leaves and flowers and waving corn. Also she visited 
Triptolemus and the other princes of Eleusis, and in- 
structed them in the performance of her sacred rites, — 
those mysteries of which no tongue may speak. Only, 
blessed is he whose eyes have seen them; his lot after 
death is not as the lot of other men! ..." 

The worship of Demeter belongs to that older religion, 
nearer to the earth, which some have thought they could 
discern, behind the more definitely national mythology of 
Homer. She is the goddess of dark caves, and is not 
wholly free from monstrous form. She gave men the 
first fig in one place, the first poppy in another; in another, 
she first taught the old Titans to mow. She is the mother 
of the vine also; and the assumed name by which she 
called herself in her wanderings, is Dos — a gift; the 
crane, as the harbinger of rain, is her messenger among 
the birds. She knows the magic powers of certain plants, 
cut from her bosom, to bane or bless; and, under one of 
her epithets, herself presides over the springs, as also coming 
from the secret places of the earth. She is the goddess, 
then, at first, of the fertility of the earth in its wildness; 
and so far, her attributes are to some degree confused 
with those of the Thessalian Gaia and the Phrygian Cybele- 
Afterwards, and it is now that her most characteristic 
attributes begin to concentrate themselves, she separates 
herself from these confused relationships, as specially 

I3 1 



The Book of Easter 

the goddess of agriculture, of the fertility of the earth 
when furthered by human skill. She is the preserver of 
the seed sown in hope, under many epithets derived from 
the incidents of vegetation, as the simple countryman names 
her, out of a mind full of the various experiences of his 
little garden or farm. She is the most definite embodi- 
ment of all those fluctuating mystical instincts, of which 
Gaia, the mother of the earth's gloomier offspring, is 
a vaguer and mistier one. There is nothing of the con- 
fused outline, the mere shadowiness of mystical dreaming, 
in this most concrete human figure. No nation, less 
aesthetically gifted than the Greeks, could have thus 
lightly thrown its mystical surmise and divination into 
images so clear and idyllic as those of the solemn goddess 
of the country, in whom the characteristics of the mother 
are expressed with so much tenderness, and the " beauteous 
head" of Kore, then so fresh and peaceful. 

In this phase, then, the story of Demeter appears as the 
peculiar creation of country people of a high impressi- 
bility, dreaming over their work in spring or autumn, 
half consciously touched by a sense of its sacredness, and 
a sort of mystery about it. For there is much in the life 
of the farm everywhere which gives, to persons of any 
seriousness of disposition, special opportunity for grave 
and gentle thoughts. The temper of people engaged in 
the occupations of country life, so permanent, so "near 
to nature," is at all times alike; and the habitual solemnity 
of thought and expression which Wordsworth found in 
the peasants of Cumberland, and the painter Francois 
Millet in the peasants of Brittany, may well have had its 
prototype in early Greece. And so, even before the 
development, by the poets, of their awful and passionate 

132 



Easter Stories 

story, Demeter and Persephone seem to have been pre- 
eminently the venerable, or aweful, goddesses. Demeter 
haunts the fields in spring, when the young lambs are 
dropped; she visits the barns in autumn; she takes part 
in mowing and binding up the corn, and is the goddess of 
sheaves. She presides over all the pleasant, significant 
details of the farm, the threshing-floor and the full granary, 
and stands beside the woman baking bread at the oven. 
With these fancies are connected certain simple rites; 
the half -understood local observance and the half-believed 
local legend reacting capriciously on each other. They 
leave her a fragment of bread and a morsel of meat, at 
the cross-roads, to take on her journey; and perhaps some 
real Demeter carries them away, as she wanders through 
the country. The incidents of their yearly labor become 
to them acts of worship; they seek her blessing through 
many expressive names, and almost catch sight of her, 
at dawn or evening, in the nooks of the fragrant fields. 
She lays a finger on the grass at the roadside, and some 
new flower comes up. All the picturesque implements 
of country life are hers; the poppy also, emblem of an 
inexhaustible fertility, and full of mysterious juices for 
the alleviation of pain. The countrywoman who puts 
her child to sleep in the great, cradle-like basket for win- 
nowing the corn, remembers Demeter Courotrophos, the 
mother of corn and children alike, and makes it a little 
coat out of the dress worn by its father at his initiation 
into her mysteries. Yet she is an angry goddess too 
sometimes — Demeter Erinnys, the goblin of the neighbor- 
hood, haunting its shadowy places. She lies on the ground 
out of doors on summer nights, and becomes wet with 
the dew. She grows young again every spring, yet is of 

U3 



The Book of Easter 

great age, the wrinkled woman of the Homeric hymn, 
who becomes the nurse of Demophoon. Other lighter, 
errant stories nest themselves, as time goes on, within 
the greater. The water-newt, which repels the lips of 
the traveller who stoops to drink, is a certain urchin, 
Abas, who spoiled by his mockery the pleasure of the 
thirsting goddess, as she drank once of a wayside spring 
in her wanderings. The night-owl is the transformed 
Ascalabus, who alone had seen Persephone eat that morsel 
of pomegranate, in the garden of Aidoneus. The bitter 
wild mint was once a girl, who for a moment had made 
her jealous, in Hades. . . . Ovid gives this account of 
it in the Fasti — a kind of Roman calendar — for the 
seventh of April, the day of the games of Ceres. He 
tells over again the old story, with much of which, he says, 
the reader will be already familiar; but he has something 
also of his own to add to it, which the reader will hear 
for the first time; and, like one of those old painters who, 
in depicting a scene of Christian history, drew from their 
own fancy or experience its special setting and accessories, 
he translates the story into something very different from 
the Homeric hymn. The writer of the Homeric hymn 
had made Celeus a king, and represented the scene at 
Eleusis in a fair palace, like the Venetian painters who 
depict the persons of the Holy Family with royal orna- 
ments. Ovid, on the other hand, is more like certain 
painters of the early Florentine school, who represent 
the holy persons amid the more touching circumstances 
of humble life; and the special something of his own 
which he adds, is a pathos caught from homely things, 
not without a delightful, just perceptible, shade of humor 
even, so rare in such work. All the mysticism has disap- 

134 



Easter Stories 

peared; but, instead, we trace something of that "wor- 
ship of sorrow," which has been sometimes supposed to 
have had no place in classical religious sentiment. In 
Ovid's well-finished elegiacs, Persephone's flower-gather- 
ing, the Anthology, reaches its utmost delicacy; but I 
give the following episode for the sake of its pathetic 
expression : — 

"After many wanderings Ceres was come to Attica. 
There, in the utmost dejection, for the first time, she 
sat down to rest on a bare stone, which the people of Attica 
still call the stone of sorrow. For many days she remained 
there motionless, under the open sky, heedless of the rain 
and of the frosty moonlight. Places have their fortunes; 
and what is now the illustrious town of Eleusis was then 
the field of an old man named Celeus. He was carrying 
home a load of acorns, and wild berries shaken down 
from the brambles, and dry wood for burning on the hearth; 
his little daughter was leading two goats home from the 
hills; and at home there was a little boy lying sick in 
his cradle. 'Mother/ said the little girl — and the god- 
dess was moved at the name of mother — 'what do you, 
all alone, in this solitary place?'- The old man stopped 
too, in spite of his heavy burden, and bade her take shelter 
in his cottage though it was but a little one. But at first 
she refused to come; she looked like an old woman, 
and an old woman's coif confined her hair; and as the 
man still urged her, she said to him, 'Heaven bless you; 
and may children always be yours ! My daughter has been 
stolen from me. Alas ! how much happier is your lot 
than mine;' and, though weeping is impossible for the 
gods, as she spoke, a bright drop, like a tear, fell into 
her bosom. Soft-hearted, the little girl and the old man 

135 



The Book of Easter 

weep together. And after that the good man said, 'Arise ! 
despise not the shelter of my little home; so may the 
daughter whom you seek be restored to you.' 'Lead me/ 
answered the goddess; 'you have found out the secret 
of moving me ; ' and she arose from the stone, and followed 
the old man; and as they went he told her of the sick 
child at home — how he is restless with pain, and cannot 
sleep. And she, before entering the little cottage, gathered 
from the untended earth the soothing and sleep-giving 
poppy; and as she gathered it, it is said that she forgot 
her vow, and tasted of the seeds, and broke her long fast, 
unaware. As she came through the door, she saw the 
house full of trouble, for now there was no more hope of 
life for the sick boy. She saluted the mother, whose name 
was Metaneira, and humbly kissed the lips of the child, 
with her own lips; then the paleness left its face, and 
suddenly the parents see the strength returning to its body ; 
so great is the force that comes from the divine mouth. 
And the whole family was full of joy — the mother and 
the father and the little girl; they were the whole house- 
hold." 

Walter Pater in Greek Studies 

The Odour of the Ointment *o ^y ^^y *o 

A SCENSION lilies were everywhere in our shabby 
*- ^ drawing-room. They crowded two tables and filled 
a corner and rose, slim and white, atop a Sheraton cabinet. 
Every one had sent Pelleas and me a sheaf of the flowers 
— the Chartres, the Cleatams, Miss Willie Lillieblade, 
Enid, Lisa, and dear Hobart Eddy had all remembered 
us on Easter eve, and we entered our drawing-room after 

136 



Easter Stories 

breakfast on Easter morning to be all but greeted with 
a winding of the white trumpets. The sun smote them 
and they were a kind of candle, their light secretly diffused, 
premonitory of Spring, of some resurrection of light as 
a new element. It was a wonderful Easter day, and in 
spite of our sad gray hair Pelleas and I were never in 
fairer health; yet for the first time in our fifty years to- 
gether Easter found us close prisoners. 

Easter morning, and we were forbidden to leave the 
house ! 

"Etarre," PelLeas said with some show of firmness, 
"there is no reason in the world whv we should not 
go." 

"Ah, well now," I said with a sigh, "I wish you could 
prove that to Nichola. Do I not know it perfectly 
already?" 

It is one sign of our advancing years, we must suppose, 
that we are prone to predicate of each other the trifles 
which Heaven sends. The sterner things we long ago 
learned to accept with our hands clasped in each other's; 
but when the postman is late or the hot water is cold or 
we miss our paper we have a way of looking solemnly 
sidewise. 

We had gone upstairs the night before in the best of 
humours, Pelleas carrying an Ascension lily to stand in 
the moonlight of our window, for it always seems to us 
the saddest injustice to set the sullen extinguisher of 
lowered lights on the brief life of a flower. And we had 
been looking forward happily to Easter morning when the 
service is always inseparable from a festival of Spring. 
Then, lo ! when we were awakened there was the treacher- 
ous world one glitter of ice. Branches sparkled against 

*37 



The Book of Easter 

the blue, the wall of the park was a rampart of silver, 
and the faithless sidewalks were mockeries of thorough- 
fare. But the grave significance of this did not come to 
us until Nichola entered the dining room with the griddle 
cakes and found me dressed in my gray silk and Pelleas 
in broadcloth. 

"Is it," asked our old serving-woman, who rules us 
as if she had brought us from Italy and we had not, more 
than forty years before, tempted her from her native 
Capri, " is it that you are mad, with this ice everywhere, 
everywhere?'' 

"It is Easter morning, Nichola," I said with the mild- 
ness of one who supports a perfect cause. 

"Our Lady knows it is so," Nichola said, setting down 
her smoking burden, "but the streets are so thick with ice 
that one breaks one's head a thousand times. You must 
not think of so much as stepping in the ar-y." 

She left the room, and the honey-brown cakes cooled 
while Pelleas and I looked at each other aghast. 

To miss our Easter service for the first time in our life 
together! The thought was hardly to be borne. We 
reasoned with Nichola when she came back, and I think 
that Pelleas even stamped his foot under the table; but 
she only brought more cakes and shook her head, the 
impertinent old woman who has conceived that she must 
take care of us. 

"One breaks one's head a thousand times," she obsti- 
nately repeated. "Our Lady would not wish it. Danger 
is not holy." 

To tell the truth, as Pelleas and I looked sorrowfully 
from the window above the Ascension lilies we knew that 
there was reason in the situation, for the streets were peril- 

138 



Easter Stories 

ous even to see. None the less we were frankly resentful, 
for it is bad enough to have a disagreeable matter occur 
without having reason on its side. As for our carriage, 
that went long ago together with the days when Pelleas 
could model and I could write so that a few were deceived; 
and as for a cab to our far downtown church and back, 
that was not to be considered. For several years now we 
have stepped, as Nichola would say, softly, softly from one 
security to another so that we need not give up our house; 
and even now we are seldom sure that one month's com- 
fort will keep its troth with the next. Since it was too icy 
to walk to the car we must needs remain where we were. 

"I suppose/' said I, as if it were a matter of opinion, 
"that it is really Easter uptown too. But someway — " 

"I know," Pelleas said. Really, of all the pleasures 
of this world I think that the "I know " of Pelleas in an- 
swer to something I have left unsaid is the last to be 
foregone. I hope that there is no one who does not have 
this delight. 

"Pelleas — " I began tremblingly to suggest. 

"Ah, well now," Pelleas cried resolutely, "let us go 
anyway. We can walk beside the curb slowly. And 
after all, we do not belong to Xichola." Really, of all 
the pleasures of this world I think that the daring of 
Pelleas in moments when I am cowardly is quite the last 
to be renounced. I hope that there is no one who has 
not the delight of living near some one a bit braver than 
himself. 

With one accord we slipped from the drawing-room 
and toiled up the stairs. I think, although we would not 
for the world have said so, that there may have been in 
our minds the fear that this might be our last Easter to- 

139 



The Book of Easter 

gether and, if it was to be so, then to run away to Easter 
service would be a fitting memory, a little delicious human 
thing to recall among austerer glories. Out of its box 
in a twinkling came my violet bonnet and I hardly looked 
in a mirror as I put it on. I fastened my cloak wrong 
from top to bottom and seized two right-hand gloves and 
thrust them in my muff. Then we opened the door and 
listened. There was not a sound in the house. We 
ventured into the passage and down the stairs and I think 
we did not breathe until the outer door closed softly upon 
us. For Nichola, we have come to believe, is a mystic 
and thinks other people's thoughts. At all events, she 
finds out so often that we prefer to theorize that it is her 
penetration and not our clumsiness which betrays us. 

Nichola had already swept the steps with hot water and 
salt and ashes and sawdust combined: Nichola is so 
thorough that I am astonished she has not corrupted me 
with the quality. Yet no sooner was I beyond the pale of 
her friendly care than I overestimated thoroughness, like 
the weak character that I am, and wished that the whole 
street had practised it. I took three steps on that icy 
surface and stood still, desperately. 

"Pelleas," I said weakly, "I feel — I feel like a little 
nut on top of a big, frosted, indigestible cake." 

I laughed a bit hysterically and Pelleas slipped my arm 
more firmly in his and we crept forward like the hands of 
a clock, Pelleas a little faster, as the tall minute hand. 
We turned the corner safely and had one interminable 
block to traverse before we reached the haven of the car. 
I looked down that long expanse of slippery gray, unbroken 
save where a divine janitor or two had interposed, and my 
courage failed me. And Pelleas rashly ventured on advice. 

140 



Easter Stones 

"You walk too stiffly, Etarre," he explained. "Relax, 
relax! Step along slowly but easily, as I do. Then, 
if you fall, you fall like a child — no jar, no shock, no broken 
bones. Now relax — " 

Before I could shape my answer Pelleas had relaxed. 
He lay in a limp little heap on the ice beside me, and I 
shall never forget my moment of despair. 

I do not know where she came from, but while I stood 
there hopelessly reiterating, "Pelleas — why, Pelleas!" 
on the verge of tears, she stepped from some door of the 
air to my assistance. She wore a little crimson hat and 
a crimson collar, but her poor coat, I afterward noted, 
was sadly worn. At the moment of her coming, it was her 
clear, pale face that fixed itself in my grateful memory. 
She darted forward, stepped down from the curb, and held 
out two hands to Pelleas. 

"Oh, sir," she said, "I can help you. I have on rubber 
boots." 

Surely no interfering goddess ever arrived in a more 
practical frame of mind. 

When Pelleas was on his feet, looking about him in 
a dazed and rather unforgiving fashion, the little maid 
caught off her crimson muffler and brushed his coat. 
Pelleas, with bared head, made her as courtly a bow as 
his foothold permitted, and she continued to stand some- 
what shyly before us with the prettiest anxiety on her 
face, shaking the snow from her crimson muffler. 

"You are not hurt, sir?" she asked, and seemed so 
vastly relieved at his reassurance that she quite won our 
hearts. "Now," she said, "won't you let me walk with 
you? My rubber boots will do for all three !" 

We each accepted her arm without the smallest protest. 
141 



The Book of Easter 

I will hazard that no shipwrecked sailor ever inquired of 
the rescuing sail whether he was inconveniencing it. 
Once safely abroad, however, and well under way, he may 
have symbolized his breeding to the extent of offering 
a faint, polite resistance. 

As "Shall we not be putting you out?" Pelleas inquired, 
never offering to release her arm. 

And "I'm afraid we are," I ventured, pressing to her 
all the closer. She was frail as I, too, and it was not the 
rubber boots to which I pinned my faith ; she was young, 
and you can hardly know what safety that bespeaks until 
you are seventy, on ice. 

"It's just there, on the south corner of the avenue," 
Pelleas explained apologetically, and for the first time I 
perceived that by common consent we had turned back 
toward home. But neither of us mentioned that. 

Then, as we stepped forward, with beautiful nicety 
rounding the corner to come upon our entrance, suddenly, 
without a moment's warning, our blackest fears were 
fulfilled. We ran full upon Nichola. 

"Ah, I told you, Pelleas!" I murmured; which I had 
not, but one has to take some comfort in crises. 

Without a word Nichola wheeled solemnly, grasped my 
other arm, and made herself fourth in our singular party. 
Her gray head was unprotected and her hair stood out all 
about it. She had thrown her apron across her shoulders, 
and great patches in her print gown were visible to all the 
world. When Nichola's sleeves wear out, she always cuts 
a piece from the front breadth of her skirt to mend them, 
trusting to her aprons to conceal the lack. She was a sorry 
old figure indeed, out there on the avenue in the Easter 
sunshine, and I inclined bitterly to resent her interference. 

142 



Easter Stories 

"Nichola," said I, haughtily, "one would think that we 
were obliged to be wheeled about on casters." 

Nichola made but brief reply. 

"Our Lady knows you'd be better so," she said. 

So that was how, on Easter morning, with the bells peal- 
ing like a softer silver across the silver of the city, Pelleas 
and I found ourselves back in our lonely drawing-room, 
considerably shaken and hovering before the fire which 
Nichola stirred to a leaping blaze. And with us, since we 
had insisted on her coming, was our new little friend, flutter- 
ing about us with the prettiest concern, taking away my 
cloak, untying my bonnet, and wheeling an arm-chair for 
Pelleas, quite as if she were the responsible little hostess 
and we her upset guests. Presently, the bright hat and 
worn coat laid aside, she sat on a hassock before the blaze 
and looked up at us, like a little finch that had alighted at 
our casement and had been coaxed within. I think that I 
love best these little bird-women whom one expects at any 
moment to hear thrilling with a lilt of unreasonable song. 

"My dear," said I, on a sudden, "how selfish of us. I 
dare say you will have been going to church?" 

She hesitated briefly. 

"I might V gone to the mission," she explained, unac- 
countably colouring, "but I don't know if I would. On 
Easter." 

"But I should have thought," I cried, "that this is the 
day of days to go." 

"It would be," she assented, "it would be — " she went 
on, hesitating, "but, ma'am, I can't bear to go," she burst 
out, " because they don't have no flowers. We go to the 
mission," she added, "and not to the grand churches. And 
it seems — it seems — don't you think God must be where 

143 



The Book of Easter 

the most flowers are? An' last Easter we only had one 
geranium." 

Bless the child ! I must be a kind of pagan, for I under- 
stood. 

"Your flowers are beautiful," she said shyly, with a 
breath of content. "Are they real? I've been wantin' to 
ask you. I never saw so many without the glass in front. 
But they don't smell much," she added wistfully; "I 
wonder why that is. " 

Pelleas and I had been wondering that very morning. 
They looked so sweet-scented and yet were barren of fra- 
grance ; and we told ourselves that perhaps they were lilies 
of symbol without mission or message beyond the symbol 
without hue or passion or, so to say, experience. 

"Perhaps if one were to make some one happy with them 
or to put them in a bride's bouquet they would no longer be 
scentless," Pelleas quaintly said. 

But now my mind was busy with other problems than 
those of such fragrance. 

"Where do you go to church, my dear?". I asked, not 
daring to glance at Pelleas. 

"To the mission," she said, "over — " and she named 
one of the poorest of the struggling East Side chapels. 
"It's just started," she explained, "an' the lady that give 
most, she died, and the money don't come. And poor 
Mr. Lovelow, he's the minister and he's sick — but he 
preaches, anyhow. And pretty near nobody comes to hear 
him," she added, with a curious, half-defiant emotion, 
her cheeks still glowing. It was strange that I, who am 
such a busybody of romance, was so slow to comprehend 
that betraying colour. 

Pelleas and I knew where the mission was. We had even 
144 



Easter Stories 

peeped into it one Sunday when, though it was not quite 
finished, they were trying to hold service from the unpainted 
pulpit. I remember the ugly walls covered with the lead- 
pencil calculations of the builders, the forlorn reed organ, 
the pushing feet upon the floor. x\nd now "the lady who 
give most" had died. 

"Last Easter," our little friend was reiterating, "we had 
one geranium that the minister brought. But now his 
mother is dead and I guess he won't be keeping plants. 
Men always lets 'em freeze. Mis' Sledge, she's got a cac- 
tus, but it hasn't bloomed yet. Maybe she'll take that. 
And they said that they was going to hang up the letters 
left from last Christmas, for the green. They don't say 
nothing but 'Welcome' and the 'Star of Bethlehem,' but I 
s'pose the ' Welcome' is always nice for a church, and I 
s'pose the star shines all year around, if you look. But they 
don't much of anybody come! Mr. Lovelow, he's too 
sick to visit round much. Last Sunday they was only 
'leven in the whole room." 

"Only 'leven in the whole room." It hardly seemed 
credible in New York. But I knew the poverty of some 
of the smaller missions, especially in a case where "the 
lady that give most" had died. And this poor young 
minister, this poor Mr. Lovelow whose mother had died and 
who was too sick to "visit round much," and doubtless 
had an indifferent, poverty-ridden parish which no other 
pastor wanted — I knew in an instant the whole story of the 
struggle. I looked over at our pots of Ascension lilies and 
I found myself unreasonably angry with the dear Cleatams 
and Chartres and Hobart Eddy and the rest for the self- 
indulgence of having given them to us. 

At that moment my eyes met those of Pelleas. He was 

L 145 



The Book of Easter 

leaning forward, looking at me with an expression of both 
daring and doubt of my approval, and I saw his eyes go 
swiftly to the lilies. What was he contriving, I wondered, 
my heart beating. He was surely not thinking of sending 
our lilies over to the mission, for we could never get them 
all there in time, and Nichola — 

"Etarre!" said Pelleas — and showed me in a moment 
heights of resourcefulness to which I can never attain, — 
"Etarre! It is only half after ten. We can't go out to 
service — and the mission is not four blocks from us. 
Why not have our little friend run over there and, if there 
are only two dozen or so in the chapel, have that young 
Mr. Lovelow bring them all over here, and let it be Easter 
in this room? " 

He waved his hand toward the lilies waiting there all 
about the walls and doing no good to any save a selfish 
old man and woman. He looked at me, almost abashed 
at his own impulse. Was ever such a practical Mahomet, 
proposing to bring to himself some Mountain Delectable? 

"Do you mean," I asked breathlessly, "to let them have 
services in this — " 

"Here with us, in the drawing-room," Pelleas ex- 
plained. "Why not? There were fifty in the room for 
that Lenten morning musicale. There's the piano for the 
music. And the lilies — the lilies — " 

"Of course we will," I cried. "But, oh, will they come? 
Do you think they will come?" 

I turned to our little friend, and she had risen and was 
waiting with shining eyes. 

"Oh, ma'am," she said, trembling, "why, ma'am ! Oh, 
yes'm, they'll come. I'll get 'em here myself. Oh, Mr. 
Lovelow, he'll be so glad. . . ." 

146 



Easter Stories 

She flew to her bright hat and worn coat and crimson 
muffler. 

"Mr. Lovelow says," she cried, "that a shabby church is 
just as much a holy temple as the ark of the government 
— but he was so glad when we dyed the spread for the 
orgin — Oh, ma'am," she broke off, knotting the crimson 
scarf about her throat, "do you really want 'em? They 
ain't — you know they don't look — " 

"Hurry, child," said Pelleas, "and mind you don't let 
one of them escape!" 

When she was gone we looked at each other in panic. 

"Pelleas," I cried, trembling, "think of all there is to 
be done in ten minutes." 

Pelleas brushed this aside as a mere straw in the wind. 
"Think of Nichola," he portentously amended. In all 
our flurry we could not help laughing at the frenzy of our 
old servant when we told her. Old Nichola was born upon 
the other side of every argument. In her we can see the his- 
tory of all the world working out in a miniature of wrinkles. 
For Nichola would have cut off her gray hair with Sparta, 
hurled herself fanatically abroad on St. Bartholomew's 
day, borne a pike before the Bastile, broken and burned 
the first threshing-machine in England, stoned Luther, and 
helped to sew the stars upon the striped cloth in the kitchen 
of Betsy Ross. 

"For the love of Heaven," cried Nichola, "church in the 
best room ! It is not holy. Whoever heard o' church in a 
private house, like a spiritualist seeonce or whatever they 
are. An' me with a sponge-cake in the oven," she con- 
cluded fervently. "Heaven be helpful, mem, I wish't 
you'd 'a' went to church yourselves." 

Chairs were drawn from the library and dining room 
147 



The Book of Easter 

and from above stairs, and frantically dusted with Nichola's 
apron. The lilies were turned from the windows to look in- 
ward on the room, and a little table for the Bible was laid with 
a white cloth and set with a vase of lilies. And in spite of 
Nichola, who every moment scolded and prophesied and 
nodded her head in the certainty that all the thunders of 
the church would descend upon us, we were ready when the 
door-bell rang. I peeped from the drawing-room window 
and saw that our steps were filled ! 

"Nichola," said I, trembling, "you will come up to ser- 
vice, will you not?" Nichola shook her gray old head. 

"It's a nonsense," she shrilly proclaimed. "It will not 
be civilized. It will not be religious. I'll open the door 
on 'em, but I won't do nothink elst, mem." 

When we heard their garments in the hall and the voice 
of Little Friend, Pelleas pushed back the curtains and there 
was our Easter, come to us upon the threshold. 

I shall not soon forget the fragile, gentle figure who led 
them. The Reverend Stephen Lovelow came in with 
outstretched hand, and I have forgotten what he said or 
indeed whether he spoke at all. But he took our hands and 
greeted us as the disciple must greet the host of the House 
of the Upper Room. We led the way to the table, where 
he laid his worn Bible and he stood in silence while the 
others found their places, marshalled briskly by Little 
Friend who as captain was no less efficient than as deliverer. 
There were chairs to spare, and when every one was seated, 
in perfect quiet, the young clergyman bowed his head : — 

"Lord, thou hast made thy face to shine upon us—" 
he prayed, and it seemed to me that our shabby drawing- 
room was suddenly quick with a presence- more intimate 
than that of the lilies. 

148 



Easter Stories 

When the hymn was given out and there was a fluttering 
of leaves of the hymn-books they had brought, five of our 
guests at a nod from Mr. Love low made their way forward. 
One was a young woman with a ruddy face, but ruddy 
with that strange wrinkled ruddiness of age rather than 
youth, who wore a huge felt hat laden with flaming roses, 
evidently added expressly for Easter Day. She had on a 
thin waist of flimsy pink with a collar of beads and silver 
braid, and there were stones of all colours in a half-dozen 
rings on her hands. She took her place at the piano with an 
ease almost defiant and she played the hymn not badly, 
I must admit, and sang in a full riotous soprano. 
Meanwhile, at her side was ranged the choir. There 
were four — a great watch-dog of a bass with swelling 
veins upon his forehead and erect reddish hair; a little 
round contralto in a plush cap and a dress trimmed with 
the appliqued flowers cut from a lace curtain; a tall, 
shy soprano who looked from one to another through the 
hymn, as if she were in personal exhortation ; and a pleas- 
ant-faced tenor who sang with a will that was good to hear 
and was evidently the choir leader, for he beat time with a 
stumpy, cracked hand set with a huge black ring on its 
middle finger. The little woman next me offered her book, 
and I had a glimpse of a pinched side face, with a displaced 
strand of gray hair and a loose linen collar with no cravat; 
but I have seldom heard a sweeter voice than that which 
up-trembled beside me — although, poor little woman ! 
she was sadly ill at ease because the thumb which rested on 
the book next me was thrust in a glove fully an inch too 
long. As for Pelleas, he was sharing a book with a young- 
ish man, stooped, long-armed, with a mane of black hair, 
whom Mr. Lovelow afterward told me had lost his position 

149 



The Book of Easter 

in a sweat shop through drawing some excellent cartoons 
on the box of his machine. Mr. Love low himself was 
" looking over" with a mother and daughter who were later 
presented to us, and who embarrassed any listener by 
persistently talking in concert, each repeating a few words 
of what the other had just said, quite in fashion of the most 
gently bred talkers bent upon assuring each other of their 
spontaneous sympathy and repose. 

And what a hymn it was! After the first stanza they 
gained in confidence, and a volume of sound filled the low 
room — ay, and a world of spirit, too. 

" Christ the Lord is risen to-day. Hallelu-jah ! . . ." 

They carolled, and Pelleas, who never can sing a tune 
aloud, although he declares indignantly that in his head 
he keeps it perfectly, and I, who do not sing at all, both 
joined perforce in the triumphant chorus. Ah, I dare 
say that farther down the avenue were sweet -voiced choirs 
that sang music long rehearsed, golden, flowing; and yet 
I think there was no more fervent Easter music than that 
in which we joined. It was as if the other music were the 
censer smoke and we were its shadow on the ground, but a 
proof of the sun for all that. 

I cannot now remember all that simple service, perhaps 
because I so well remember the glory of the hour. I sat 
where I could see the park stretching away, black upon 
silver and silver upon black, over the Ascension lilies. 
The face of the young minister was illumined as he read and 
talked to his people. I think that I have never known such 
gentleness, never such yearning and tenderness, as were his 
with that handful of crude and careless and devout. And 
though he spoke passionately and convincingly, I could not 
but think that he was like some dumb thing striving for the 

T 5o 



Easter Stones 

utterance of the secret fire within — striving to "burn 
aloud," as a violin beseeches understanding. Perhaps there 
is no other way to tell the story of that first day of the week 
— "early, when it was yet dark." 

"They had brought sweet spices," he said, "with which 
to anoint him. Where are the spices that we have brought 
to-day? Have we aught of sacrifice, of charity, of zeal, 
of adoration — let us lay them at his feet in offering accept- 
able unto the Lord, a token of our presence at the door of the 
sepulchre from which the stone was rolled away. Where 
are the sweet spices of our hands, where the pound of 
ointment of spikenard wherewith we shall anoint the 
feet of our living Lord? For if we bring of our spiritual 
possession, the Christ will suffer us, even as he suffered 
Alary ; and the house shall be filled with the odour of the 
ointment." 

"And the house shall be filled with the odour of the oint- 
ment," I said over to myself. Is it not strange how a phrase, 
a vista, a bar of song, a thought beneath the open stars, 
will almost pierce the veil? 

"And the house shall be rilled with the odour of the 
ointment," I said silently all through the last prayer and the 
last hymn and the benediction of "The Lord make his face 
to shine upon you, the Lord give you peace." And some 
way, with our rising, the abashment which is an integral 
part of all such gatherings as we had convoked was not to 
be reckoned with, and straightway the presentation and the 
words of gratitude and even the pretty anxiety of Little 
Friend fluttering among us were spontaneous and uncon- 
strained. It was quite as if, Pelleas said afterward, we had 
been reduced to a common denominator. Indeed, it seems 
to me in remembering the day as if half the principles of 



The Book of Easter 

Christian sociology were illustrated there in our shabby 
drawing-room; but for that matter I would like to ask 
what complexities of political science, what profound bases 
of solidarity, are not on the way to be solved in the pres- 
ence of Easter lilies? I am in all these matters most 
stupid and simple, but at all events I am not blameful 
enough to believe that they are exhausted by the theories. 

Every one lingered for a little, in proof of the success of 
our venture. Pelleas and I talked with the choir and with 
the pianiste, and this lady informed us that our old rose- 
wood piano, which we apologetically explained to have been 
ours for fifty years, was every bit as good and every bit 
as loud as a new golden-oak " instrument" belonging to her 
sister. The tall, shy soprano told us haltingly how much 
she enjoyed the hour and her words conveyed sincerity 
in spite of her strange system of overemphasis of everything 
she said and of carrying down the corners of her mouth as if 
in deprecation. The plump little contralto thanked us, too, 
with a most winning smile — such round, open eyes she had, 
immovably fixed on the object of her attention, and as Pelleas 
said such evident eyes. 

" Her eyes looked so amazingly like eyes," he afterward 
commented whimsically. 

We talked too with the little woman of the long-thumbed 
gloves who had the extraordinary habit of smiling faintly 
and turning away her head whenever she detected any one 
looking at her. And the sweat-shop cartoonist proved to 
be an engaging young giant with the figure of a Greek god, 
classic features, a manner of gravity amounting almost to 
hauteur, and as pronounced an East Side dialect as I have 
heard. 

"Will you not let us," I said to him, after Mr. Lovelow's 

i$2 



Easter Stories 

word about his talent, "see your drawings some time? 
It would give us pleasure." 

Whereupon, "Sure. Me, I'll toin de whoP of 'em over 
to youse," said the Greek god, thumbs out and shoulders 
flickering. 

But back of these glimpses of reality among them there 
was something still more real ; and though I dare say there 
will be some who will smile at the affair and call that interest 
curiosity and those awkward thanks mere aping of con- 
vention, yet Pelleas and I, who have a modest degree of 
intelligence and who had the advantage of being present, do 
affirm that on that Easter morning countless little doors 
were opened in the air to admit a throng of presences. We 
cannot tell how it may have been, and we are helpless before 
all argument and incredulity, but we know that a certain 
stone was rolled away from the door of the hearts of us all, 
and there were with us those in shining garments. 

In the midst of all I turned to ask our Little Friend some 
trivial thing, and I saw that which made my old heart leap. 
Little Friend stood before a table of the lilies and with her 
was young Mr. Lovelow. And something — I cannot tell 
what it may have been, but in these matters I am rarely 
mistaken ; and something — as she looked up and he 
looked down — made me know past all doubting how it 
was with them. And this open secret of their love was 
akin to the mysteries of the day itself. 

The gentle, sad young clergyman and our Little Friend 
of the crimson muffler had suddenly opened to us another 
door and admitted another joyous presence. I cannot tell 
how it may be with every one else, but for Pelleas and me 
one such glimpse — a glimpse of two faces alight with hap- 
piness on the street, in a car, or wherever they may be — is 

*53 



The Book of Easter 

enough to make glad a whole gray week. Though to be 
sure no week is ever wholly gray. 

I was still busy with the sweet surprise of this and longing 
for opportunity to tell Pelleas, when they all moved toward 
the door and with good-bys filed into the hall. And 
there in the anteroom stood Nichola, our old servant, who 
brushed my elbow and said in my ear: — 

"Mem, every one of 'em looks starvin'. I've a kettle 
of hot coffee on the back of the range an' there's fresh 
sponge-cake inv plenty. I've put cups on the dinin' room 
table, an' I thought— " 

"Nichola!" said I, in a low and, I must believe, ecstatic 
tone. 

"An' no end o' work it's made me too," added our old 
servant, sourly, and not to be thought in the least gracious. 
It was a very practical ending to that radiant Easter 
morning, but I dare say we could have devised none better. 
Moreover, Nichola had ready sandwiches, and a fresh cheese 
of her own making, and a great bowl of some simple salad 
dressed as only her Italian hands can dress it. I wondered 
as I sat in the circle of our guests, a vase of Easter lilies on 
the table, whether Nichola, that grim old woman who 
scorned to come to our service, had yet not brought her 
pound of ointment of spikenard very precious. 

"You and Mr. Lovelow are to spend the afternoon and 
have tea with us," I whispered Little Friend, and had the 
joy of seeing the telltale colour leap gloriously to her cheek 
and a telltale happiness kindle in his eyes. I am never 
free from amazement that a mere word or so humble a plan 
for another's pleasures can give joy. Verily, one would sup- 
pose that we would all be so busy at this pastime that we 
would almost neglect our duties. 

154 



Easter Stories 

So when the others were gone these two lingered. All 
through the long spring afternoon they sat with us beside 
our crackling fire of bavin-sticks, telling us of this and that 
homely interest, of some one's timid hope and another's 
sacrifice, in the life of the little mission. Ah, I dare say 
that Carlyle and Hugo have the master's hand for touching 
open a casement here and there and letting one look in 
upon an isolated life, and, sympathizing for one passionate 
moment, turn away before the space is closed again, with 
darkness; but these two were destined that day to give us 
glimpses not less poignant, to open to us so many unknown 
hearts, that we would be justified in never again being 
occupied with our own concerns. 

And when after tea they stood in the dusk of the hallway 
trying to say good-by, I think that their secret must have 
shone in our faces too; and, as the children say, "we all 
knew that we all knew," and life was a thing of heavenly 
blessedness. 

Young Mr. Lovelow took the hand of Pelleas, and mine 
he kissed. 

"The Lord bless you, the Lord make his face to shine 
upon you, the Lord give you peace," was in his eyes as he 
went away. 

"And, oh, sir," Little Friend said shyly to Pelleas as she 
stood at the top of the steps, knotting her crimson muffler, 
"ain't it good, after all, that Easter was all over ice?" 

That night Pelleas carried upstairs a great armful of the 
Ascension lilies to stand in the moonlight of our window. 
We took lilies to the mantel, and set stalks of bloom on the 
table, with their trumpets turned within upon the room. 

x 55 



The Book of Easter 

And when the lower lights had been extinguished and 
Nichola had bidden us her grumbling good night, we 
opened the door of that upper room where the moon was 
silvering the lilies; and we stood still, smitten with a 
common surprise. 

"Pelleas," I said uncertainly, "O Pelleas, I thought — " 

"So did I," said Pelleas, with a deep breath. 

We bent above the lilies that looked so sweet-scented 
and yet had been barren of fragrance because, we had told 
ourselves, they seemed flowers of symbol without mission 
or message beyond the symbol, without hue or passion, or, 
so to say, experience. ("Perhaps if one were to make 
some one happy with them or to put them in a bride's 
bouquet they would no longer be scentless," Pelleas had 
quaintly said.) And now we were certain, as we stood 
hushed beside them, that our Easter lilies were giving out 
a faint, delicious fragrance. 

I looked up at Pelleas almost fearfully in the flood of 
spring moonlight. The radiance was full on his white 
hair and tranquil face, and he met my eyes with the 
knowledge that we were suddenly become the custodians 
of an exquisite secret. The words of the young servant 
of God came to me understandingly. 

"And the house shall be filled with the odour of the 
ointment," I said over. "O Pelleas," I added tremu- 
lously, "do you think ..." 

Pelleas lifted his face and I thought that it shone in the 
dimness. 

"Ah, well," he answered, "we must believe all the beau- 
tiful things we can." 

Zona Gale in The Loves of Pelleas and Etarre 



156 



Easter Stories 

Easter Eggs ^> ^> ^> ^> ^> ^> ^y 

A /I* ANY centuries ago there dwelt in a little valley 
1** ■*- surrounded by mountains a few poor charcoal- 
burners. The narrow valley was closed in on every side 
by trees and rocks. The huts of the poor peasants lay 
scattered around. A few cherry or plum trees planted 
beside each hut — a little tillage and pasture land — a 
patch of flax and hemp — a cow and one or two goats, 
constituted all their riches, though they earned a trifle 
besides by burning charcoal for the iron works in the 
mountains. Poor as they were, however, they were never- 
theless a very happy little community, for they wanted 
nothing else. Their hardy mode of life, their constant 
toil and temperate habits, made them very healthy; and 
in these poor little huts you might see (what you would 
seek in vain in palaces) men over a hundred years of age. 

One day, when the corn was just beginning to ripen, and 
the heat had become very great in the mountains, a little 
charcoal-girl, who had been tending her goats, came 
running down, out of breath, to tell her parents that 
some strange people had arrived in the valley, who wore 
wonderful clothes and spoke with a strange accent — a 
beautiful lady with two children and a very old man, who, 
though he also wore a very rich dress, seemed to be her 
servant. 

"Ah," said the little girl, "the poor people are hungry 
and thirsty and very tired. I met them in the mountains, 
as I was searching for a stray goat, and I showed them the 
way to our valley. We must take them out something 
to eat and drink, and see whether, among the neighbors 
and ourselves, we cannot get them lodgings for the night." 

*57 



The Book of Easter 

Her parents immediately got some oaten bread, milk, 
and goat's cheese, and hastened out to meet them. The 
strangers, meanwhile, had been resting themselves under 
the cool shade of the bushes — the lady was sitting upon 
a moss-grown stone, and had drawn a white veil over her 
face. One of the children, a very pretty delicate little 
girl, sat upon her knee ; the old servant, a man of venerable 
appearance, was employed in unloading the mule which 
they had with them; and the other child, a handsome, 
lively boy, was giving a handful of thistles to the mule, 
who ate them contentedly. 

The charcoal-burner and his wife approached the strange 
lady with deference, for her graceful figure, noble bearing, 
and flowing white dress proclaimed her to be of high 
rank. 

"Just look," said the charcoal-burner's wife, in a low 
tone, to her husband, "at the beautiful pointed collar, 
and the lace cuffs which just show her delicate hands; 
and her shoes are as white as cherry blossoms, and spangled 
with silver flowers ! " 

"Hold your tongue," said her husband, "you are always 
thinking of some nonsense like that. Great folk are en- 
titled to fine clothes; but after all, dress does not make 
a person one whit better, and the poor lady, in spite of her 
beautiful shoes, has had to walk many a weary step over 
the rough roads!" 

They advanced and offered their bread, milk, and 
cheese to the strange lady. She threw back her veil, 
and they were both filled with admiration of her beauty 
and the gentle expression of her features. She thanked 
them very much, and immediately gave a cup of the milk 
to the child in her lap: and the tears streamed down her 



Easter Stories 

cheeks, as the poor little thing clutched the cup fast with 
both her hands and drank eagerly. The pretty boy, too, 
came and drank. She then gave them some bread, and 
afterwards drank herself and ate some of the bread ; while 
the strange man cut huge slices of the cheese, and seemed 
to enjoy it very much. Meanwhile the cottagers, young 
and old, came out of their huts, and stood round^ in a 
circle watching the newcomers with curious and wonder- 
ing eyes. 

As soon as the old man had done eating, he earnestly 
begged them to provide, in some of their huts, a little room 
for the lady for a short time, promising that she should 
not be a burden to them, but should pay liberally for 
everything. 

"Ah, yes," said the lady herself, in a soft, pleasing 
voice, "do take pity on an unhappy mother and her two 
little ones, whom fate has driven from their home!" 

The men went together to consult in what house she 
could most conveniently be received. In the upper part 
of the valley there was a little stream which burst out from 
among the red marble cliffs, and fell from rock to rock in a 
mass of milky foam, turning in its course a mill which 
hung upon the edge of the precipice. On the opposite 
side of the stream the miller had built another pretty little 
house. Like all the other houses in the valley, it was but 
a wooden one; but it was extremely pretty, charmingly 
shaded by overhanging cherry trees and surrounded by 
a garden. This house the miller offered the strange lady 
to take her abode in. 

"My new cottage, above yonder," said he, pointing 
with his hand, "I most cheerfully give up to you, just 
as it stands. It is perfectly new; no one has ever lived 

iS9 



The Book of Easter 

in it yet. I built it as a place to which I might retire when 
I should give up the mill to my son. It was only yesterday 
it was completed, and to-day you can take possession of 
it, just as if I had built it expressly for yourself. I am sure 
you will like it." 

The good lady was delighted with this friendly offer, 
and after she had rested a little, went to look at the cottage. 
She carried the little girl in her arms, and the old man 
led the boy by the hand, while the miller took charge of 
the mule. To the great joy of the miller, she was delighted 
with the little house. It was already provided with a 
table, and a few chairs and bedsteads. 

The lady had brought on the mule's back some hand- 
some carpets and covers; so she was able to take up 
her lodging for the night, thanking God that, after their 
long wanderings, He had brought them to so pleasant a 
spot. 

Very early next morning the lady and her two children 
came out of their cottage, to take a look at the surround- 
ing country, for the day before they were too tired to do so. 
She was charmed with the prospect. The huts of the 
charcoal-burners lay far below, as if sown in twos or threes 
in the green valley. The mill-stream wound, clear as 
silver, midway between on the hills and cliffs, which were 
covered with green brushwood on which the goats were 
browsing, and it presented, in the morning sunshine, a 
picture which no art could surpass. . . . 

Summer and autumn passed, and the winter came. In 
this wild region it was very severe. For months together 
the little huts in the valley lay as if buried in snow, the 
smoking chimneys and parts of the roofs alone appearing 
above the white covering. Not a bit of the space between 

1 60 



Easter Stories 

the rocks could be seen, the mill stood still, and the water- 
falls hung stiff and noiseless upon the cliffs. Neighbors 
seldom could meet each other now; and when at last the 
snow disappeared, and the spring returned once more, 
great was the delight of all. 

The children of the valley immediately came up to the 
mill and brought to the two little strangers, Edmund and 
Blanda, the earliest violets and cowslips which they could 
find in the valley; and as soon as there wxre sufficient 
of these sweet spring flowers, they made for them a most 
beautiful blue and yellow garland. 

"I must make some return to these kind children also," 
said the lady. "I shall get up a little festival for them 
next Easter Day; for it is right to make these holidays as 
happy as possible to children. But what shall I give them ? 
At Christmas I was able to give them apples and nuts 
which I sent for the purpose; but at this season one has 
nothing in the house but a few eggs. Nature has not 
yet produced her rich stores. The trees and bushes are 
without fruits or berries — eggs are the earliest gift of 
the spring." 

"Ah, yes !" said Martha, "if the eggs were not so much 
all of one color. White is certainly a nice color, but 
the various tints of the fruits and berries, and the rosy 
cheeks of the apples are far prettier." 

"Your suggestion is not a bad one," said her kind 
mistress; "I will boil the eggs hard, and color them in 
the boiling, which can be easily done. The children, 
I am sure, will be highly delighted with the different 
colors." 

The clever lady knew all about the different roots and 
mosses which may be used for dyeing: and she colored 
m 161 



The Book of Easter 

the eggs in a variety of ways ; some she made blue, others 
yellow, others a beautiful rose color; and some she 
wrapped in tender green leaves, which left their impress 
on the eggs, and gave them an extremely pretty varie- 
gated appearance. On some of them she wrote a little 
rhyme. 

"Yes," said the miller, when he saw them, "these colored 
eggs are just the thing for the festival, — now that Nature 
has laid aside her white attire, and dresses herself out in 
all her varied hues. The good lady does just like God, 
who not only gives His fruits an agreeable flavor, but also 
makes them beautiful and pleasing to the eye ; — as He 
dyes the cherry red, the plum purple, and the pear yellow, 
so does she dye her eggs." 

The lady now sent Martha round the valley to invite 
all the children who were of the same age as Edmund 
and Blanda to a little juvenile festival on Easter Day. 

Easter Day, this season, proved an extremely beautiful 
spring day — a true resurrection of nature. The sun 
seemed so lovely and warm, the sky so clear and blue, 
that it was really charming and imparted new life to every- 
thing around. The meadows in the valley were already 
a lovely green, and here and there dotted with flowers. 
Every one enjoyed the sight of enjoyment and happiness. 

Long before daybreak the lady and old Kuno were upon 
their way to the church, which lay at a distance of more 
than two miles beyond the mountains, Edmund and Blanda 
remaining at home meanwhile, under Martha's care; 
and the grown-up people of the valley, with the elder 
children who were equal to the journey, accompanied 
her to church. Towards midday the lady reached home, 
riding on the mule which Kuno led, but it was long after 

162 



Easter Stories 

this hour, in fact nearly evening, when the cottagers and 
their children returned. 

The moment the lady returned, her little guests, who had 
been left home, and were anxiously longing for her return, 
came up full of joy, all dressed out in their little finery, 
and assembled before her door. She came out with Ed- 
mund and Blanda, greeted them all affectionately, and 
brought them into the garden, which Kuno had taken 
great pains in improving last year, and had extended to 
the foot of the precipice. The lady sat down on a little 
bench under a tree, and called the children close to her. 
They all thronged around, and looked up to her with 
affectionate smiles while she told them in simple language 
the beautiful old story of the first Easter Day. 

The children all listened to her with great attention, 
and when she had finished she paused for a moment and 
looked round at her young hearers. Among them she 
noticed a brother and sister dressed in deep mourning, 
and, hearing that they had lost their mother a few days 
before, she showed them how they might draw comfort 
from the story of the resurrection, and look forward in 
joyous hope to beholding their dear mother once more 
in Paradise. 

She now brought the children to the shelter of the rock, 
where Kuno had prepared a large oval table upon a nice 
gravelled spot. The table was covered with a colored 
cloth, and seats of fresh green sods were arranged around 
it. The children, with Edmund and Blanda in the midst 
of them, took their places at it. All eyes beamed with 
joy, and with anticipation of the coming entertainment, 
and it would not be easy to imagine a more interesting 
sight than the little circle of yellow and brown locks and 

163 



The Book of Easter 

happy faces which surrounded the table. "A wreath of 
the most beautiful lilies and roses," said the lady to herself, 
"is nothing in comparison with it!" 

A large earthen dish rilled with warm custard was now 
placed upon the table, and before each of the little guests 
was set a nice new bowl, filled with the custard. They 
enjoyed it exceedingly. The lady then brought them out 
through a side gate of the garden, into the little pine grove 
which stood close by. There were nice green plots of 
grass between the young trees, and here the lady told 
each of the children to make a little nest with the moss 
which grew in profusion upon the rocks and trees round 
about. They joyfully obeyed, those who were not able 
to make the nest themselves being helped by their more 
clever companions; and then they all carefully marked 
their own nests. 

Then she brought them again into the garden; when, 
behold ! they found upon the table a huge cake — made 
with eggs, and shaped like an immense crown. Each 
of the children was helped to a large slice, and while they 
were eating, Martha slipped quietly into the grove with 
a large basketful of colored eggs, and laid them in the 
little nests. The blue, red, yellow, or variegated eggs 
looked very pretty amongst the delicate green moss, of 
which the nests were formed. 

When the children had finished eating, the lady called 
them to come and look at their nests — and, behold ! in 
every nest were found five eggs of the same color, with 
a verse upon one of the number. . . . They all con- 
sisted of but a few simple and unstudied words; they 
were inscribed both on the eggs which she had already 
distributed, and on another set which she afterwards 

164 



Easter Stories 

divided among the children. Some of them were as 
follows : — 

To thee our earthly food we owe, 
Grant us, O Lord, thy gifts to know ! 

One thing is needful — only one — 
Love God, my child, and Him alone. 

On God's protecting arm rely; 
To Him in all thy sorrows fly ! 

A docile child its parents' will 
Is ever ready to fulfil. 

The liar's steps shame will pursue; 
His word is doubted, e'en when true. 

A truly good and pious man 
Assists his neighbour when he can. 

Gentle thoughts and self-control 
Bring peace and comfort to the soul. 

The world and all its joys decay; 
Virtue alone endures for aye. 

The spring and summer passed over in the valley 
without anything remarkable happening. The charcoal, 
burners tilled their little farms, and then went to the forest 
to burn charcoal ; their wives attended to the housekeep- 
ing at home, and reared a great number of hens; and 
the children would often ask whether Easter would not 
soon come again. But the noble lady was often very 
unhappy. Her faithful old servant, who till now had 

165 



The Book of Easter 

always been at her side, and who in the commencement 
used to make journeys of greater or less extent for her 
upon her business, was no longer able to leave the valley, 
for his health began to fail; and, indeed, when autumn 
came, and the leaves began to grow brown upon the bushes, 
he could hardly even leave the house to enjoy what he 
dearly loved, a little bask in the genial sunshine. His 
mistress shed many an anxious tear for the good old man 
who was her last support, and she bitterly felt getting no 
news from her dear native land, and being shut out from 
the rest of the world in this secluded valley. 

A circumstance occurred, too, which filled her with no 
little alarm. One morning some of the charcoal-burners 
came home from the forest and told the miller that the 
night before, as they were sitting quietly by their burning 
heap, four strange men suddenly *came upon them, with 
iron helmets, and coats of mail, and with huge swords by 
their side, and long lances in their hands. They said they 
were retainers of the Count von Schroffeneck, who had 
come into the mountains with a large train; and they 
inquired about everything in the neighborhood. The 
miller hastened with his news to the lady, who at 
that moment was sitting by Kuno's sick-bed. The mo- 
ment he mentioned the name of Schroffeneck, she turned 
pale and cried out: " O my God! it is my deadliest foe — 
I am sure he seeks nothing else but my life. I hope the 
people did not let the strangers know where I am living !" 
The miller assured her that as far as he knew they had not 
mentioned her at all. 

a The men," said he, "only warmed themselves at the 
fire, and went away before daybreak; but they are still, 
no doubt, reconnoitring through the mountains." 

1 66 



Easter Stories 

"Dear Oswald!" said the lady to the miller, "ever 
since I came to your house, I have always found you a 
conscientious, upright, honest man. I will, therefore, 
tell you my whole history, and the anxiety which now fills 
my heart, for I reckon upon your counsel and assistance. 

"I am Rosalind, daughter of the Duke of Burgundy. 
Two noble lords, Hanno of Schroffeneck, and Arno of 
Lindenburg, were suitors for my hand. Hanno was the 
richest and most powerful lord in the country around, 
and had the largest train of retainers, and the strongest 
castles; but he was wanting in virtue and nobleness of 
soul. Arno was the bravest and noblest knight in the 
land; but, in comparison with his rival, he was poor, 
for he had inherited from his generous father nothing 
but one old castle and had never attempted to enlarge 
his possessions by violence. To him, notwithstanding, 
I gave my hand with my father's consent, and I brought 
him large domains, and many strong castles as my dowry. 
Our life was a paradise on earth. 

"But Hanno of SchrofTeneck conceived a deadly hate 
against me and my husband, and became our mortal 
enemy, though he concealed his hatred, and made no open 
display of it for a time. At last my husband was called 
to accompany the emperor in his expedition against the 
Moslems. Hanno was summoned also; but he contrived, 
under various pretexts, to delay his preparations, merely 
promising to join the army as soon as possible. But while 
my husband and his vassals were engaged in the most 
distant part of the kingdom, fighting for their country, 
the false Hanno invaded our territory, and there was not 
a soul to oppose him. He laid everything waste far and 
wide, and stormed one castle after another, till at last 

167 



The Book of Easter 

nothing remained for me but to fly secretly with my two 
darling children. My good old Kuno was my only guardian 
angel upon this perilous flight during which I was constantly 
exposed to Hanno's pursuit. He brought me to these 
mountains, where I have lived so peacefully in this secluded 
and unknown valley. Here it was my purpose to remain 
till my husband should return from the war, and recover 
our domains from the usurper. Kuno used to go from 
time to time to the great world, to learn news of the war, 
but he always came back with sad tidings; the wicked 
Hanno was still in possession of our lands, and the war was 
still continuing with varying success at the frontier. But 
now for nearly a year my good Kuno has been sick, and 
all this time I know nothing either of my country or my 
beloved husband. Alas ! perhaps he has long fallen under 
the sword of the enemy. Perhaps Hanno, who is now 
so close to us, has discovered my secret hiding-place — 
and if so, what will become of me? Oh! beg the char- 
coal-burners, dear Oswald, not to betray me!" 

"What, betray you?" cried the miller, "I will answer 
for them all — every one of them would die for you ! 
Before the hateful tyrant of Schroffeneck shall lay a finger 
upon you, he will first have to kill us all. Do not be afraid, 
noble lady!" 

The charcoal-burners repeated the same protestations 
when the miller spoke to them. "Just let him come!" 
they cried, "we will give him a lesson with our bill-hooks ! " 

Meanwhile the good lady's days were spent in fear and 
anxiety. She would hardly venture out of the house, and 
never let her children from the doors. Her life was very 
anxious and sad. But when all was quiet again in the 
mountain, and nothing more was heard of the armed 

1 68 



Easter Stories . 

men, she at last ventured to take a walk. It was a lovely 
day, late in the harvest, after a long continuance of rain. 
A few hundred paces from her hut stood a sort of rustic 
chapel, built of rough pine boards, and open in front. 
But it contained a very pretty picture of the Flight into 
Egypt, which Kuno had once brought home on one of his 
journeys, to cheer the good lady in her exile. 

Behind the chapel rose a steep wall of rock, and in front 
stood a few pine trees, which formed a pleasant shade over 
the entrance. The place had such an air of quiet and re- 
pose, that one felt a pleasure in staying there. A grassy 
path between picturesque rocks and shrubs led to it, and it 
was the lady's favorite walk. This time, however, she 
was not entirely without anxiety. She knelt down for a 
while with her children at the little stool at the entrance of 
the chapel. She prayed for a while, and then sat down upon 
the bench. The children meanwhile were gathering black- 
berries and amusing themselves by comparing them to little 
black bunches of grapes, till by degrees they had strayed 
some distance away. 

While the lady sat thus alone, suddenly a pilgrim ap- 
peared among the rocks and approached the chapel. He 
wore a long black dress, and a short cloak over it. His 
hat was adorned with scallop-shells, and in his hand he 
carried a long white staff. He appeared to be very old, 
but was still a stately, handsome man : his long white hair, 
which flowed down upon his shoulders, and his beard, were 
as white as snow, but his cheeks still retained all the bloom 
of the rose. The lady was alarmed when she saw the 
stranger. He saluted her respectfully and addressed her, 
but she was very cautious and reserved in her conversation, 
and looked with great coldness upon him, as though she 

169 



The Book of Easter 

wished to discover whether she ought to trust a total 
stranger, of whom she knew absolutely nothing. 

" Noble lady," said the pilgrim at last, "be not afraid 
of me, I am not such a stranger as you think. You are 
Rosalind of Burgundy. I am well acquainted with the 
cruel destiny which drove you to take refuge amid these 
rugged rocks. Your husband, too, from whom you are near 
three years parted, is well known to me. While you have 
been living in this distant spot many changes have taken 
place in the world. If you are anxious to hear about the 
good Arno of Lindenburg, and if his memory still lives in 
your heart, I can give you some good news about him. 
The war is over. The Christian army is coming home, 
crowned with the laurels of victory. Your husband has 
recovered the places that were wrested from him. The 
wicked Hanno escaped into the fastnesses of this mountain ; 
but even from this last retreat he must soon be driven. 
The sole, the ardent wish of your husband is to find once 
more his beloved spouse." 

"O God! what joyful news ! " exclaimed the lady as she 
sank on her knees, while big tears rolled down her cheeks. 
"From my heart I thank Thee, O God," she said. "Thou 
hast seen my tears, Thou hast heard my silent sighs, 
Thou hast granted my ceaseless prayers. Oh! Arno, 
Arno, may that happy moment soon come, when I shall see 
you once more, and present to you those children who were 
babies when you left us, and who now for the first time 
can call you by the endearing name of father ! " 

"O stranger!" said she to the pilgrim, "who can doubt 
whether I still cherish my husband's memory, and have his 
love still fresh and ardent in my heart? My children, 
come here," said she, turning to her two little ones, who 

170 



Easter Stories 

stood at a distance watching the strange man with curiosity, 
but too shy to approach. 

"Edmund," said she, addressing the boy, and telling 
him at the same time not to be afraid, " Edmund, repeat 
for this stranger the little prayer we say every morning for 
your father." The boy, clasping his hands devoutly, and 
raising his eyes to heaven, as in actual prayer, repeated in 
a loud, impressive, and affecting tone, the following words : 
"Dear heavenly Father, look down on us two poor little 
orphans ! Our father is in the wars — oh ! save him from 
death. We resolve to be good, that we may give joy to our 
dear father when he comes back to us. Oh ! hear our 
prayer." 

"And you, Blanda," said she to a little yellow-haired, 
rosy-cheeked girl, " repeat the prayer we say every evening 
for your father, before we retire to rest." "Dear heavenly 
Father, before we retire to rest, we pray to Thee for our 
father. May he sleep in peace this night, and be guarded 
from all harm by Thy holy angels. Send down sweet sleep 
to our mother, that she may forget her great griefs for a 
while; or, should soft sleep be not granted her, let it fall 
on the eyelids of our dear father. May that happy morn 
soon dawn which shall behold us united once more !" 

"Amen, Amen," said the mother, clasping her hands, and 
looking tearfully to heaven. 

At this moment the pilgrim burst into tears and wept 
aloud. 

He flung off the pilgrim's garb, hair, mantle, and frock, 
and stood before them in the dazzling uniform of a knight, 
glittering with gold and purple. He was in the full glow 
of youthful beauty, full of health and vigor. He stretched 
out his arms towards his wife and children, and in a voice of 

171 



The Book of Easter 

the most heartfelt emotion, exclaimed, "Oh ! Rosalind, my 
wife, and Edmund and Blanda, my dear children I " 

This sudden, unexpected joy almost overpowered the 
wife. The children, who, when they had seen the pilgrim 
weeping, looked at their mother as if to beg her to help him, 
were now, when they heard their own names, startled, and 
almost frightened at what they believed was a miracle 
occurring before their eyes; for they imagined nothing 
less than that, as their mother had often told them in the 
legends she used to relate to them, the old man changed 
himself into a beautiful youth — or an angel from heaven; 
so much were they struck by the appearance of their father, 
who in reality was the handsomest knight in the whole 
Christian army. 

What was their delight when their mother assured them, 
that the handsome gentleman was their beloved father, of 
whom she had so often told them; and in this happy 
meeting the hours fled away almost as rapidly as though 
they had been moments. 

Rosalind learned from her husband's conversation that 
he had been coming in all haste, with strong escort, to 
convey her from this retreat; but that the steepness of the 
roads had compelled him to leave his train behind, and to 
hasten forward alone, on foot, in this pilgrim garb, which 
he had often used before, in order to see her the sooner, to 
satisfy himself by personal inspection that she and her 
children were well, and to prepare her for the joyful news. 
She now asked how he had discovered her retreat. 

"Dearest Rosalind," said he, "this happy reunion is the 
fruit of your own charity to the poor, especially to the poor 
children of this valley. Had it not been for your kind heart, 
we should not have met so soon — perhaps we should 

172 



Easter Stories 

never have met again, for you were beset on all sides by 
our enemies, and might easily have fallen into their hands. 
It was not till the arrival of my party in the mountains that 
Hanno finally retreated." 

He showed her the painted egg with the inscription : — 

On God's protecting arm rely; 
To Him in all thy sorrows fly ! 

"This egg,^ said he, "was, under God, the means of 
reuniting us. For a long time I had been sending number- 
less messengers in search of you, but always without suc- 
cess. At last Eckbert, one of my squires, whom I had 
given up for lost, he had been so long absent, returned 
from an expedition. He had fallen into a ravine, and was 
on the point of perishing with hunger, when a strange youth 
saved his life by giving him a couple of eggs to eat, and gave 
him this egg also, with the beautiful inscription, as a sou- 
venir of his escape. Eckbert showed me the egg, and what 
was my surprise, when at the first glance I discovered your 
handwriting ! We instantly set out, and rode to the great 
marble works in which the good youth was employed, and 
he directed me hither. Had not your kind heart prompted 
you to give this little feast of eggs to the children, — had 
not your goodness inspired you to think of the wants of the 
soul as well as of the body, and to write these pretty rhymes 
upon the eggs, — had not you all, you, my dear little Edmund , 
and my darling Blanda, been so kind to the strange youth, 
we might never have enjoyed this happy day ! I shall have 
this egg, therefore, cased in gold and pearls, and hung up 
in our castle chapel as an everlasting memorial of the event/' 

Meanwhile, evening had begun to close, and the stars 

173 



The Book of Easter 

began to appear here and there in the clear heaven. Count 
Arno with his lady leaning upon his arm, and the children 
tripping before them, came to their humble dwelling. Here 
new joys awaited them. The squire and his deliverer, 
Fridolin, were already there, and had told the news to Kuno, 
whom the joyous tidings of his master's return had made al- 
most well again. The good youth, Fridolin, first advanced 
and saluted the lady and her children most joyfully, as old 
acquaintances. Next came Eckbert, the squire, who 
owed his life to the eggs. " Permit me, dear countess/' 
said he, approaching respectfully, "to kiss the hand to 
which, under God's guidance, I am indebted for my life!" 

The count embraced Kuno as his most trusty servant, 
and shook with true gratitude the hand of the honest miller, 
who stood by in full holiday costume in his blue Sunday 
coat. They all supped in happiness and contentment. 

The next morning the valley was a scene of joyous ex- 
citement. The news of the arrival of the lady's husband, 
a great, very great lord, set them all in commotion. Big 
and little came up to see him; and the little hut was sur- 
rounded by the people. The count, with his wife and chil- 
dren, came out and received them all affectionately, 
thanking them all for their kindness to his wife and little 
ones. "Oh, we are not her benefactors," they replied, 
with tears in their eyes, "'tis she, 'tis she, who is our greatest 
benefactress!" The count talked with them for a long 
time, speaking individually to each, and left them all im- 
pressed by his kindness. 

Meanwhile the count's train had, with the assistance 
of some charcoal-burners, discovered a road into the valley. 
Several knights, and a host of retainers on horseback and on 
foot, marched, amid the sound of trumpets, between two 

174 



Easter Stories 

wooded mountains into the valley, their helmets and lances 
glittering in the sunbeams. They saluted their long-lost 
mistress with heart-felt joy, and their shouts of triumph 
were reechoed by the rocks all around. 

Count Arno remained for a few days, and the evening 
before his departure, with his wife and children and Kuno 
and the rest of his train, he entertained all the inhabitants 
of. the valley at a feast. The table presented a very 
motley appearance with the miller and charcoal-burners 
scattered amid knights and men-at-arms. At the close, 
he distributed rich presents among his guests, especially to 
the worthy miller; Martha remained in the countess's 
service. He provided especially for the mother, brother, 
and sister of the good youth Fridolin. 

"For you, my dear little friends," said he to the children, 
"I shall establish an annual festival in memory of my 
wife's stay among such good people. Every Easter, eggs, 
of all varieties of color, shall be distributed among the 
children. ,, 

"And I," said the countess, "will extend this custom 
throughout our entire dominions, and order that colored 
eggs shall be similarly distributed there, in memory of my 
deliverance." And she kept her word : and the eggs were 
called Easter Eggs; and this pretty custom, by degrees, 
extended throughout the entire country. 

From the German of Christoph von Schmid 



Easter Eve ^> ^> ^^ ^y ^^ ^> ^> 

"P ASTER Eve of the year 187-. 

-L ' Night had already fallen upon the silenced world. 

The earth, warmed during the day, was now fanned by 

*75 



The Book of Easter 

the sharp breeze of a spring night frost and seemed to be 
deeply breathing. This exhalation beneath the rays of 
the glimmering, star-speckled firmament created pale 
mists, that rose like clouds of incense to meet the coming 
holiday. 

All was still. The small provincial metropolis of N , 

wrapped in damp chill, was silently waiting for the first stroke 
of the cathedral bells. But the town was by no means 
asleep. In the dusk, in the shadows of the voiceless and 
depopulated streets you could feel a pent-up expectancy. 
At times a belated laborer, whom the holiday had all 
but overtaken at his hard and thankless task, would run 
by homewards; at times, too, a cabman's team would 
clatter along; and then again the dumb silence. From 
the street life had ebbed indoors, into rich mansions and 
into squalid huts, all aglow with lights and there it lay 
still. Over field and city, over all the earth the breeze 
that blew carried a nameless sound heralding the approach- 
ing Sabbath, holiday and rejuvenescence. 

The moon had not risen and the city lay darkling on 
a broad height upon which stood out a building, large and 
gloomy. The peculiar, severe straight lines of the build- 
ing were in shadowy outline against the starlit blue; a 
black gate barely stood out from the dark mass of the wall, 
and four turrets, high and tapering, one at each angle, 
were silhouetted against the sky. 

On a sudden there broke from the high cathedral belfry 
upon the sensitive air of the brooding night the first ring- 
ing stroke of the bells, then the second and the third. 
Scarcely a moment passed before many bells in many 
places, with varying tones, rang out, mingled and sang 
strains that blended in a weird harmony and softly rocked 

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Easter Stories 

and hovered in the ether. From the gloomy building 
also, could be heard a thin, cracked, jarring sound that 
seemed to tremble in faint hopelessness of rising to the 
ethereal heights of the mighty accord. 

The ringing ceased. The sounds melted into the air, 
but the previous silence of the night came back to its own 
only by degrees ; for a long time the plaintive, dying echo 
wandered through the night like the quivering of an in- 
visible string attuned. In the houses the lights went out; 
the windows of the churches shone brightly. The earth 
in 187- was once again preparing to voice the old slogan 
that conquered the universe — Love and Brotherhood. 

Within the black gate of the gloomy building the bolts 
rattled. Half a platoon of soldiers, with muskets clank- 
ing in the darkness, came forth to relieve the guard. They 
^marched up to the corners, and at each post stopped for 
a moment. From the dark little clump of men a solitary 
figure would detach itself and walk off with measured 
step; the man relieved would, in turn, become absorbed by 
the murky little group. Then the half platoon moved on, 
circling round the high prison walls. The sentry who was 
to be posted on the western side was a young recruit, 
whose country breeding still hung about his clumsy move- 
ments. The young face betrayed the keen attention of 
the tyro about to hold his first responsible place. He 
stopped with his face toward the wall, and clanking his 
musket, advanced two steps, faced about, and stood 
shoulder to shoulder with the man he was relieving. Turn- 
ing his head toward his relief, the sentry on post recited 
to the newcomer in a monotone the stand regulations : — 

"From one corner to the other — to watch — not to 
sleep, or doze — " the soldier mouthed jerkily, while the 

N 177 



The Book of Easter 

recruit listened with attention, a strange look of anxiety 
in his gray eyes. 

" Understand?" spoke up the corporal. 

" Yes, sir!" 

"Well, be careful," sharply; then in milder tones he 
added : — 

"Fear nothing, Thadieff, you're not a woman to be 
afraid of the devil." 

"Afraid of the devil?" returned the naive Thadieff; 
then, musingly, "something in my heart — a creepy kind 
of feeling, bothers — " 

At this simple, almost childish, confession, laughter 
was heard among the little troop of soldiers. 

"Poor little country wife," remarked the corporal with 
a kind of pitying contempt. Then, in a more military 
voice, he commanded: — % 

"Carry — arms ! March ! " The guard, with even tread, 
disappeared around a corner and was soon out of earshot. 
The new sentry shouldered his musket and quietly paced 
the length of the wall. . . . 

Inside the prison, as soon as the last stroke of the bell 
was heard, all was astir. It was a long time since the 
black and sorry night of the prison had seen so much 
bustle. It seemed, indeed, as though the holiday had 
brought with it a rumor of freedom. One after another 
the doors of the cells opened. Men in long, gray, draggle- 
tailed cloaks marched two by two in endless files along the 
corridors and into the prison church, agleam with lights. 
From the right and from the left they came, mounting 
the stairs from below, and descending from above. 
Through the noise of the tramping feet could be heard 
from time to time the rattle of a musket or the clang of 

178 



Easter Stories 

fetters. Within the spacious church the gray throng 
poured into a compartment separated by a grating of bars 
and there became still. The windows of the church 
were also protected with strong iron bars. . . . 

The prison itself was empty. Only in the four turrets 
at the angles, securely locked in, four lonely prisoners were 
pacing their round cells like things caged, and every now 
and then they would listen at their doors to scraps of song 
that reached them from the church. 

In one of the common cells, moreover, upon a bench, 
lay an invalid. The warden, on hearing of this prisoner's 
sudden illness as the others were being marched into 
the chapel, entered his cell, bent over him, and looked into 
his eyes that burned with a strange lustre and gazed into 
the distance without expression. 

"Ivanov! — Listen, Ivanov," the warden addressed him. 

The prisoner did not turn his head; he muttered some- 
thing incomprehensible; his voice was hoarse and the 
feverish lips moved with pain. 

" Hospital to-morrow/' ordered the warden curtly and 
went out, leaving a turnkey at the door of the cell. The 
turnkey glanced at the prostrate, feverish figure and shook 
his head. 

"Eh, Mr. Tramp, but you've tramped your last this 
time, sure," he philosophized, and having decided that 
there was nothing to keep him there, he walked down 
the corridor to the chapel, and behind the closed door 
followed the service, kneeling softly at the appointed 
times. 

The desolate, unguarded cell was filled from time to 
time with the mutterings of the invalid. He was not yet 
an old man, this invalid; he was large and well built. 

179 



The Book of Easter 

In his rambling talk he lived again his more immediate 
past, and his face was distorted with suffering. 

Fate had played a queer prank upon this tramp. Over 
dangerous Taiga and mountainous wildernesses, braving a 
thousand perils, he had walked fully a thousand versts 
driven by a burning nostalgia, led on by one hope : " To 
see them — a month — a week — to live with the folks 
— then the road again for me." Only a hundred versts 
from his native village he fell into that prison. . . . 

But on a sudden the wild mutterings ceased. The 
tramp opened his eyes and breathed more evenly. In his 
burning head thoughts of a more soothing kind began to 
stir. 

The sough of the Taiga. 

He recognizes that sound — musical, free. He had 
learned to know the voices of the forest, the speech of 
every tree. The lofty pine trees tinkle high above with 
their dense, dark foliage; the fir trees whisper together 
impressively; the bright larch waves with supple branch; 
and the aspen quakes and shivers with frightened leafage. 
The free birds twitter gayly and the garrulous brook goes 
bowling turbulently along through stony gullies and secret 
places of the Taiga. A flock of chattering magpies circles 
in the air — they always hover over those thickets where 
the tramp, hidden by the undergrowth, stealthily makes 
his way through the Taiga. 

The invalid seemed actually to smell a breath of the 
Taiga wind. With a deep sigh he sat up; the eyes gazed 
into the distance, but suddenly something like conscious- 
ness gleamed in them. The tramp, an habitual fugitive, 
saw before him that unusual phenomenon — an open 
door. 

1 80 



Easter Stories 

A mighty instinct quivered through his whole fever- 
shaken organism. The symptoms of delirium swiftly 
disappeared, or else rallied about the solitary image that 
penetrated the chaos of his mind like a ray of light — the 
open door. 

In a minute he was standing up. It seemed as though 
all the fire of his inflamed brain swept into the eyes. They 
gazed ahead with an intentness set and terrible. 

Some one coming out of the prison chapel opened the 
door for a moment. Waves of the melodious singing, 
softened by distance, struck upon the ears of the tramp 
and then were heard no more. A tremor of emotion 
passed over his pale face; his eyes grew dim and in his 
mind arose a picture long cherished by memory — a 
quiet night, the whispering of reverential, dark-boughed 
pines about the church o^nis native village; a crowd of 
fellow-villagers, fires burning along the river bank and this 
same singing — he must hurry along in order to hear all 
among his own people. . . . 

All this time the turnkey behind the church door in 
the corridor of the prison kneels and prays with all his 
heart. . . . 

The young recruit, with shouldered musket, is pacing 
the length of the wall. The smooth prairie, but lately 
denuded of the snow, stretches far into the distance before 
the sentry. A light wind rustling dryly through last year's 
grass over the steppes forces upon the mind of the sol- 
dier a tender, melancholy reflection. 

He stopped in his march, stood his musket on the ground, 
put his hand on the muzzle, his head on his hands, and fell 
to musing. It was still not quite clear to him just why he 
was here with a gun on this solemn night before Easter, 

181 



I he Book of Easter 

between prison wall and the empty prairie land. Indeed, 
he was still a good deal of a moujik, not comprehending 
much that a soldier ordinarily understands, and it was 
not for nothing he was nicknamed " Country." It was 
only a little while ago that he had been free, lord and 
master of his own field, of his own work. But now a 
nameless, indefinable dread dogged his very footsteps 
at every moment, and drove the angular peasant nature 
into the strict routine of the service. 

But for the moment he was alone. The empty land- 
scape spreading before him and the cry of the wind in 
the prairie grass brought upon him a strange drowsiness, 
and before his eyes floated pictures of home. He too sees 
a village; there also the wind blows; fires burn about the 
church and dark pines wave their green tops above it. 

At times he starts, and then his gray eyes seem per- 
plexed; what's this? The prairie, a gun, the wall. Reality 
comes back to him for a moment, but soon the melancholy 
whistle of the night wind again conjures up domestic 
scenes and again the soldier is dozing as he leans upon 
his gun. . . . 

Not far from where stands the sentry a dark object 
rises on the crest of the well; it is a human head. . . . 
The tramp gazes over the broad steppe to the scarce- 
discernible outline of the distant forest. . . . His chest 
expands as he inhales eagerly the free, fresh breath of 
mother-night. Hanging by the hands, he softly and noise- 
lessly drops from the wall. 

The jubilant sound of bells again wakes the nocturnal 
stillness. The door of the prison chapel opens and the 
Easter procession moves solemnly through the courtyard. 
A wave of harmonious song breaks from the chapel. 

182 



Easter Stories 

The sentry wakes with a start, straightens up, takes off 
his cap to cross himself and — with his hand uplifted in 
prayer he is suddenly frozen with horror. . . . The tramp, 
upon reaching the ground, made a dash into the dry grass 
of the steppe. 

"Stand ! Stand, my fine fellow," cried the terror-stricken 
sentry, raising his musket. All that he feared, all the 
nameless dread that had possessed him, returned at the 
sight of the fleeing figure in gray. 

"Give the password!" flitted through the mind of the 
soldier, and taking aim at the fugitive, he cocked his eye 
with a piteous grimace and fired. . . . 

Over the city the harmonious peals again hover and circle 
melodiously in the ether. The cracked bell of the prison 
church again quakes and struggles like a slain bird in its 
death agony ! From behind the walls float the first rhyth- 
mic sounds of the solemn chant, " Christ is Risen." 

But on a sudden all else is drowned by a musket shot 
outside the wall. . . . 

A weak, helpless groan is followed by a plaintive sob, 
and then for the time all is still. . . . 

But the far echo of the vacant steppes repeated with 
dismal murmuring the last reverberations of the gun- 
shot. .... 

Vladimir Korolenko 

Translated and abridged by Henry James Forman 
From The Bookman, March, 1905. By permission. 



183 



The Book of Easter 



The Ballad of Judas Iscariot ^> ^ <^ ^> 

"TVas the body of Judas Iscariot 

-*- Lay in the Field of Blood; 
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
Beside the body stood. 

The breath of the world came and went 

Like a sick man's in rest; 
Drop by drop on the world's eyes 

The dews fell cool and blest. 

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 

That made a gentle moan — 
"I will bury underneath the ground 

My flesh and blood and bone. 

"I will bury them deep beneath the soil, 

Lest mortals look thereon; 
And when the wolf and raven come, 

The body will be gone!" 

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, 
So grim, and gaunt, and gray, 

Raised the body of Judas Iscariot, 
And carried it away. 

Half he walk'd, and half he seem'd 

Lifted on the cold wind; 
He did not turn, for chilly hands 

Were pushing from behind. 

The first place he came unto, 
It was the open wold, 
184 



Easter Stones 

And underneath were prickly whins, 
And a wind that blew so cold. 

The next place that he came unto, 

It was a stagnant pool, 
And when he threw the body in, 

It floated light as wool. 

The third place that he journeyed to 

It was the Brig of Dread, 
And the great torrents rushing down 

Were deep, and swift, and red. 

He dared not fling the body in 

For fear of faces dim, 
And arms were waved in the wild water 

To thrust it back to him. 

For days and nights he wander' d on, 

All thro' the Wood of Woe, 
And the nights went by like moaning wind, 

And the days like drifting snow. 

For months and years, in grief and tears, 

He walk'd the silent night; 
Then the soul of Judas Iscariot 

Perceived a far-off light. 

And the soul of Judas Iscariot 

Crawl' d to the distant gleam; 
And the mists came down, and the rain was blown 

Against him with a scream. 

185 



The Book of Easter 

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, 

Strange, and sad, and tall, 
Stood all alone at dead of night 

Before a lighted hall. 

The shadows of the wedding guests 

Did strangely come and go, 
And the body of Judas Iscariot 

Lay stretched along the snow. 

The Bridegroom in His robe of white 

Sat at the table-head. 
"Oh, who is he that moans without ?" 

The blessed Bridegroom said. 

And one look'd forth from the lighted hall, 

And answer' d fierce and low, 
" 'Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot 

Gliding to and fro." 

'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 

Did hush itself and stand, 
And saw the Bridegroom at the door 

With a light in His hand. 

The Bridegroom stood in the open door, 

And He was clad in white, 
And far within the Lord's Supper 

Was spread so broad and bright. 

The Bridegroom shaded His eyes and look'd, 
And His face was bright to see — 
186 



Easter Stories 

"What dost thou here at the Lord's Supper 
With thy body's sins?" said He. 

And the soul of Judas Iscarfot 

Stood there black, and bare — 

"I have wandered many nights and days; 
There is no light elsewhere." 

But the wedding guests cried out within, 
And their eyes were fierce and bright — 

" Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot 
Away into the night!" 

The Bridegroom stood in the open door, 
And He waved hands still and slow, 

And the third time that He waved His hands 
The air was thick with snow. 

And of every flake of falling snow, 

Before it touch' d the ground, 
There came a dove, and a thousand doves 

Made ever a sweet sound. 

And the body of Judas Iscariot 

Floated away full fleet, 
And the wings of the doves that bare it off 

Were like its winding sheet. 

'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door, 

And beckoned, smiling sweet; 
'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 

Stole in, and fell at His feet. 

Robert Buchanan 
187 



The Book of Easter 

The Easter Vision ^> ^> ^> ^ ^y ^> 

OIGHT he had, but not vision. The things about 
^ him stood out with the utmost distinctness; every 
line was sharply defined, every feature and shape distinctly 
lined. So accustomed was he to entire accuracy of per- 
ception, to perfect exactness of knowledge, that he was im- 
patient of any blur in another's sight, any uncertainty in 
another's report or account of things. Confidence in his 
own judgment had become second nature with him; 
he acted as one who could make no mistakes. And this 
was the impression others received from him. All men spoke 
of his clearness of judgment; of the vigor and decision of 
his nature; of the weight and authority of his character. 
He was, in a word, the master of his world. 

But it was significant that while men went to him for 
advice in all practical matters, no man ever sought his 
counsel in any moral confusion or uncertainty; no man 
struggling to his feet from the mire in which he had slipped 
ever turned to him for help; no man compassed about with 
sorrow and in the presence of the supreme experiences 
of life ever so much as thought of him. Exact, trust- 
worthy, keen, truthful, the man of clear sight touched 
his fellows only in the world of things; when the fortunes 
of the soul were in the balance, he neither saw nor felt 
nor understood. 

To him all these intangible interests were as if they 
were not. He managed his acres with perfect judgment, 
but he could not see the landscape which enveloped them; 
he saw the little section of the world in which he worked, 
but the universe was invisible to him. In his sight men 
were born, grew into childhood and youth, passed on into 

188 




Ifl 

Q 

s 

I— I 

w 

H 

o 



pq 



Easter Stories 

manhood, did their work, died and vanished from sight, 
and that was the end. He saw the outlines of their char- 
acter with marvellous clearness ; he knew where they were 
efficient and where they were weak; he judged with ex- 
actness of their value for practical service; but of their 
inner experience, of their spiritual struggles, of the forces 
and conflicts which give character its equality and life 
its meaning, he knew nothing. He was a master of the 
knowledge of things, but no ray of that wisdom which 
gives a man understanding of life ever penetrated the 
central darkness of his mind. He had sight, but he was 
without vision. 

Now, all the wealth of this man's nature was lavished 
on one whom he loved not blindly but instinctively — with 
the passion of the heart which gropes after those things 
that it needs without knowing that it needs them. In this 
woman's eyes the man who loved her saw, without seeing, 
the reflection of that heaven which was beyond his sight; 
and in her nature he felt, without understanding, the play 
and stir of those spiritual impulses and forces which slowly 
fashion in a mortal frame an immortal spirit; and in her 
life he was aware of a wealth of tenderness, of devotion, 
of self -surrender, which he could neither measure nor 
compute. And she became as his own soul; for she was 
vision to him, and in her the mystery and blessedness of 
life was present though never revealed. 

This woman died, and the man's heart broke within him, 
and the world of sight lay in ruins about him; for he saw 
nothing save the beautiful garment which the spirit had 
laid aside; and that, too, was put out of his sight. He 
was in a prison of hopeless misery; and many tried to 
speak to him, but he could not understand them for the 

189 



The Book of Easter 

thickness of the walls which surrounded him; and many 
strove to release him ; but he could not be freed, for he had 
locked the great doors from within. 

In the darkness the man no longer saw the old familiar 
things, and became as one blind — groping for the ac- 
customed places of rest and finding them not, for the sweet 
ways and usages of love and missing them. His out- 
stretched hands touched nothing, and his passionate 
longings returned upon themselves and turned to deepest 
pain; and in his solitude and desolation nothing abode 
with him save memory. 

For a time he was as one dead, but one dear memory 
kept companionship with him; and in the silence and 
darkness one image was always in his thought. As the 
days went by, that image seemed to fill his soul, and grew 
more real, and touched the hidden springs of life within 
him, and his heart grew tender under the spell of the great 
love with which he lived alone in a night In which the 
earth seemed to have vanished. 

As his love deepened, a glimmer of hope began to suffuse 
the night, like a faint radiance from a light beyond the 
horizon, and delicate tendrils began to climb out of his 
heart toward that light ; and there came a breath of some- 
thing surpassingly sweet, like a fragrance from invisible 
gardens. 

And the spirit of the man softened and stirred, and he 
lifted his face, and the dim outlines of a new world slowly 
disclosed themselves. As he looked with wonder and awe 
and the yearning of a child stretching out his hands toward 
the light, this world became more distinct, and spread 
around him in a beauty such as he had never dreamed of 
before. There were familiar objects in that world, but 

190 



Easter Stories 

they were no longer hard and rigid; the outlines were lost 
in vaster designs and were tender with new and deeper 
meanings ; the familiar acres were folded in a vaster land- 
scape, whose far horizons seemed to recede into luminous 
distances suffused with a light that streamed from the 
heart of things, and enveloped them in a splendor and 
beauty which broke out of them like a mighty flood of life. 

The man went abroad once more with the heart of a child 
and looked up to the heavens that had grown infinitely 
tender and benignant, and across the landscape that glowed 
and bloomed about his feet; for love had unsealed his 
eyes, and the power of sight had passed on into vision. 
And as he walked he was not alone, for one walked beside 
him whose presence was peace and whose companionship 
brought faith and trust and rest. The perishing world 
which he had once seen had widened to become the im- 
perishable world which love builded in the far beginning, 
and which love enriches and enlarges and makes more 
beautiful with the coming of every soul that enters into 
it through the gates of birth and of death, for both are the 
gates of life. 

And as he looked, behold, the places where the dead lay 
were blossoming fields; for all the reach and being of the 
universe there was no death. Through all things streamed 
the mighty tides of life, and in the range of his vision the 
barren places broke into bloom, and far as his eager 
spirit travelled there were the stirrings and strivings of 
tender and delicate and mysterious things growing in 
strength and beauty. And there was no more night; for 
in the darkness, as in the light, infinite love watched and 
waited and cherished all things in its immortal hands; 
and nothing was forgotten or lost. And he saw the uni- 

191 



The Book of Easter 

verse traversed by a countless host to whom sight had be- 
come vision; full of the repose of a great freedom and 
the deep joys of perfect strength fitted to imperishable ends. 
And in that multitude he became aware of those who had 
laid aside all care and sorrow and entered into the fulness 
of life; and one moved near him — no longer a memory, 
but a visible presence — who had vanished in the darkness 
of his great sorrow; who had gone out of his sight to live 
henceforth stainless, radiant, and immortal in his vision; 
no longer hidden behind the veil which she had worn in 
the days before the revelation, but shining without blur 
or dimness or shadow upon the beauty of her unclouded 
spirit. And after all the years of his love he knew that 
for the first time he saw her as she was. 

And the air was soft about him, and the fragrance of 
the early flowers was borne to him; and like a far music 
he heard the bells of Easter ringing above the churchyard. 
Hamilton W. Mabie in The Life of the Spirit 

Copyright, 1899, by Dodd, Mead & Co. 



192 



V 
GOLDEN TRUMPETS 



A GUSH of bird-song, a patter of dew, 
***■ A cloud and a rainbow's warning; 
Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue, — ■ 

An April day in the morning ! 

Harriet Prescott Spofford 



196 



Easter Music ^> <^ ^> ^ ^^ ^> <^ 

Jonquils 
^LOW, golden trumpets, sweet and clear, 
Blow soft upon the perfumed air; 
Bid the sad earth to join your song, 
"To Christ does victory belong/" 



B 1 



Oh, let the winds your message bear 
To every heart of grief and care; 
Sound through the world the joyful lay, 
"Our Christ has conquered Death to-day!" 

On cloudy wings let glad words fly 
Through the soft blue of echoing sky; 
Ring out, O trumpets, sweet and clear, 
"Through Death immortal Life is here!" 

Margaret Deland 

in The Old Garden 
Copyright^ 1887, Houghton Mifflin Company. 



o 



Surprise ^ ^> ^y ^ ^y ^ ^y 

LITTLE bulb, uncouth, 
Ragged and rusty brown, 
Have you some dew of youth? 
Have you a rusty gown? 
Plant me and see 
What I shall be, — 
God's fine surprise 
Before your eyes ! 

O fuzzy ugliness, 

Poor, helpless, crawling worm, 
Can any loveliness 

Be in that sluggish form? 

J 97 



The Book of Easter 

Hide me and see 
What I shall be, — 
God's bright surprise 
Before your eyes ! 

A body wearing out, 

A crumbling house of clay! 
O agony of doubt 

And darkness and dismay! 
Trust God and see 
What I shall be, — 
His best surprise 
Before your eyes ! 

Maltbie D. Babcock 

Copyright, 1901, Charles Scribner's Sons 

A Violet ^> ^^ *^> ^> ^> ^* '^ 

/^OD does not send us strange flowers every year; 
^* When the spring winds blow o'er the pleasant places, 
The same dear things lift up the same fair faces — 
The violet is here. 

It all comes back, the odor, grace, and hue, 
Each sweet relation of its life repeated ; 
Nothing is lost, no looking for is cheated, 
It is the thing we knew. 

So after the death -winter it will be; 
God will not put strange sights in heavenly places; 
The old love will look out from the old faces, — 
Veilchen, I shall have thee. 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 

Copyright, 1872, Houghton Mifflin Company 

198 



Golden Trumpets 

An Easter Lily ^> ^> <^> ^> ^> ^> 

AFTER long months of slumber brown and sere, 
It dreams that April's smile is bending near, 
And stirs, and from its withered covering slips; 
Lifts a few leaves in the benignant light, 
Then flowers, a soaring ecstasy of white, 
Like a pure soul breathed upward to God's lips. 

Charles G. D. Roberts 



Blessing the Fields ^> <^ ^> x ^ "^> 

The Roman Ambarvalia 

TT was the day of the "little" or private Ambarvalia 
- celebrated by a single family for the welfare of all 
belonging to it, as the great college of the Arval Brothers 
officiated at Rome in the interest of the whole state. At 
the appointed time all work ceases; the instruments of 
labor lie untouched, hung with wreaths of flowers, while 
masters and servants together go in solemn procession along 
the dry paths of vineyard and corn-field, conducting the 
victims whose blood is presently to be shed for the puri- 
fication from all natural or supernatural taint of the lands 
they have "gone about." The old Latin words of the 
liturgy, to be said as the procession moved along, though 
their precise meaning had long since become unintelligible, 
were recited from an ancient illuminated roll, kept in a 
painted chest in the hall, together with the family records. 
Early on that day the girls of the farm had been busy in 
the great portico filling large baskets with flowers plucked 
short from branches of apple and cherry, then in spacious 
bloom, to strew before the quaint images of the gods — 

199 



The Book of Easter 

Ceres and Bacchus and the yet more mysterious Dea Dia 
— as they passed through the fields, carried in their little 
houses on the shoulders of white-clad youths, who were 
understood to proceed to this office in perfect temperance, 
as pure in soul and body as the air they breathed in the 
firm weather of that early summer-time. The clean 
lustral water and the full incense-box were carried after 
them. The altars were gay with garlands of wool and the 
more sumptuous sort of blossom and green herbs to be 
thrown into the sacrificial fire, fresh gathered this morn- 
ing from a particular plot in the old garden, set apart 
for the purpose. Just then the young leaves were almost 
as fragrant as flowers, and the scent of the bean-fields 
mingled pleasantly with the cloud of incense. But for the 
monotonous intonation of the liturgy by the priests, clad 
in their strange, stiff, antique vestments, and bearing ears 
of green corn upon their heads, secured by flowing bands 
of white, the procession moved in absolute stillness, all 
persons, even the children, abstaining from speech after 
utterance of the pontifical formula, Favete Unguis! — 
Silence! Propitious Silence! lest any words save those 
proper to the occasion should hinder the religious efficacy 
of the rite. . . . 

The names of that great populace of " little gods," 
dear to the Roman home, which the pontiffs had placed on 
the sacred list of the Indigitatnenta, to be invoked, because 
they can help, on special occasions, were not forgotten 
in the long litany — Vatican who causes the infant to 
utter his first cry, Fabulinus who prompts his first word, 
Cuba who keeps him quiet in his cot, Domiduca, especially, 
for whom Marius had through life a particular memory 
and devotion, the goddess who watches over one's safe 

200 



i 



Golden Trumpets 

coming home. The urns of the dead in the family chapel 
received their due service. They also were now become 
something divine, a goodly company of friendly and 
protecting spirits, encamped about the place of their 
former abode — above all others, the father dead ten years 
before, of whom, remembering but a tall grave figure 
above him in childhood, Marius habitually thought as a 
genius a little cold and severe. 

Candidus insuetum miratur limen Olympi, 
Sub pedibusque videt nubes et siderea. — 

Perhaps ! — but certainly needs his altar here below, 
and garlands to-day upon his urn. But the dead genii 
were satisfied with little — a few violets, a cake dipped in 
wine, or a morsel of honeycomb. Daily, from the time 
when his childish footsteps were still uncertain, had 
Marius taken them their portion of the family meal, at 
the second course, amidst the silence of the company. 
They loved those who brought them their sustenance; 
but, deprived of these services, would be heard wandering 
through the house, crying sorrowfully in the stillness of 
the night. 

And those simple gifts, like other objects as trivial — 
bread, oil, wine, milk — had regained for him, by their 
use in such religious service, that poetic, and as it were 
moral significance, which surely belongs to all the means 
of daily life, could we but break through the veil of our 
familiarity with things by no means vulgar in themselves. 
A hymn followed, while the whole assembly stood with 
veiled faces. The fire rose up readily from the altars, 
in a clean, bright flame — a favorable omen, making it 
a duty to render the mirth of the evening complete. Old 

201 



The Book of Easter 

wine was poured out freely for the servants at supper in 
the great kitchen, where they had worked in the imperfect 
lights through the long evenings of winter. The young 
Marius himself took but a very sober part in the noisy 
feasting. A devout, regretful after-taste of what had been 
really beautiful in the ritual he had accomplished took 
him early away, that he might the better recall in revery 
all the circumstances of the celebration of the day. As 
he sank into a sleep, pleasant with all the influences of 
long hours in the open air, he seemed still to be moving 
in procession through the fields, with a kind of pleasurable 
awe. That feeling was still upon him as he awoke amid 
the beating of violent rain on the shutters, in the first storm 
of the season. The thunder which startled him from sleep 
seemed to make the solitude of his chamber almost pain- 
fully complete, as if the nearness of those angry clouds 
shut him up in a close place alone in the world. Then 
he thought of the sort of protection which that day's cere- 
monies assured. To procure an agreement with the gods 
— Pacem decorum exposcere: that was the meaning of 
what they had all day been busy upon. In a faith, sincere 
but half -suspicious, he would fain have those Powers 
at least not against him. His own nearer household 
gods were all around his bed. The spell of his religion 
as a part of the very essence of home, its intimacy, its 
dignity and security, was forcible at that moment; only it 
seemed to involve certain heavy demands upon him. 
Walter Pater 

in Marius the Epicurean 



202 



Golden Trumpets 
The Feast of Rogations in France ^> ^^ ^> 

11 The Fete-Dieu conforms to the splendors of courts, the Rogations 
to the simplicity of villages" — Chateaubriand. 

* I TIE Feast of Rogations is the name given by the 
■*■ Roman Catholic Church to public processions and 
prayers which take place during the three days preceding 
the Feast of the Ascension, in order to obtain the blessing 
of God on all the produce of the earth, grains, fruits, etc., 
that they may be protected from the disastrous blights 
of frost, hail, flood, fires or pillage. The word Rogation 
is derived from the Latin rogare — to pray or ask. 

The Catholic Rogations offer so much analogy to the 
ambarvalia of the ancient Romans, that among religious 
critics several have seen, in the institution of this feast, but 
a simple concession to popular tastes and traditions. 
The masses seemed to regret the time when, in honor of 
Ceres, they followed their priests in long processions 
through the fields, and the necessity to restore this feast 
under another name was recognized. The first promoter 
of the Feast of Rogations in France appears to have been 
Saint Mamert, Bishop of Vienne, Dauphiny, in 474. The 
feast was soon adopted by several neighboring churches, 
and in 511 a Council of Orleans ordained that the Feast 
of Rogations should be generally observed throughout 
France. It is scarcely celebrated anywhere in France 
at the present day, but up to the early eighties of last 
century celebrations were still conducted with great 
fervor in lower Normandy, Brittany, and certain provinces 
of middle France. During the three days preceding 
Ascension, before sunrise, the clergy of each parish, fol- 
lowed by a great number of the assembled faithful, would 

203 



The Book of Easter 

leave their respective churches, and walk in procession, 
across country, to another church, often at a considerable 
distance. Psalms and litanies interspersed with priestly 
benedictions were chanted on the way, and a hymn was 
sung in unison at the central meeting point of the two 
congregations. The most worldly of early morning 
travellers, who heard from all sides these human voices 
crossing from one point to another on a vast field or plain, 
singing the same hymn with the same religious sentiment, 
could not fail to be impressed and forced to feel that there 
was something mystically great in such concerted action 
by a multitude of people united in a similar religious 
ceremony. After a short service in the neighboring church, 
and before the return homeward, a picnic-breakfast from 
provisions brought for the purpose was partaken of, with 
cider or other liquid refreshment obtained in the visited 
village, the greatest enthusiasm, friendliness, and happiness 
prevailing on all sides. 

Neither the Greek nor other Eastern Christians ever 
celebrated the Feast of the Rogations. In England a 
council held at Cleveshoo in 747 proscribed the celebra- 
tion of Rogations secundum morem priorum nostrorum. 
But vestiges of the celebration remain in certain country 
places, where it is customary for the authorities during 
one of the three days preceding Ascension to make the 
rounds, or "beat the boundaries' ' of the parish. This, 
however, is nothing but a municipal parade, which no 
longer has any religious character. 

Transcribed from French sources with 
personal recollections by C. L.-S. 



204 



Golden Trumpets 

Blessing the Fields in Italy x ^> ^> "^ ^> 

TN a way the church is responsible for the preserva- 
■*■ tion of many relics of the ancient world, for the Roman 
priesthood has always appropriated from the past all that 
it could; and in this they thought to show much wisdom, 
thus to wean the people gradually from their paganism; 
but it is extremely doubtful whether they have ever wholly 
succeeded. The modern Italian mother still carries her 
sick child to the little circular church at the foot of the 
Palatine, just as the Roman mothers in this very temple 
used to invoke the great Twin Brethren. It is now San 
Toto, to whom they pray, as St. Theodore is familiarly 
called, and the priest comes with "bell and book and 
candle" to chase away the evil. They may neglect to 
give the child medical aid, but the visit to San Toto is 
never missed. Early on Thursday or on Sunday morn- 
ing the curious may see the ceremony, and witness the 
faith of the people. At all other times the little temple is 
closed, which sets the imagination working, and surrounds 
the place with a mysterious charm. 

Again, the priest is sought for an exorciser of spirits 
by every householder at Easter time. Holy Week is 
dedicated to the blessing of the houses within the town, 
and after Easter comes the turn for the farms and country 
houses. It is a ceremony as old as old Rome itself. 
Our priest here is kept very busy those days, and often 
has a long walk to the boundaries of his parish. From 
our eyrie we see him start off along the dusty road, carry- 
ing his yellow stole and white cotta on his arm, while the 
two small acolytes run beside him, swinging the silver 
holy-water stoup and asperges in their race. 

205 



The Book of Easter 

The peasants receive him with a great show of joy, and 
take him into all the rooms which they wish to be 
blessed. There has been a great commotion and cleaning 
up, " because the priest is coming" — indeed, it is their 
spring cleaning. As the priest comes downstairs and 
stands upon the threshing-floor, the massaia brings him 
an offering of eggs, and if she can afford it, drops a few 
copper coins into the holy-water stoup. At the end of 
the day he has so many eggs that he has to send them to 
the market. The Prevosto is always very pleased to come 
and chase away the devils out of the Fortezzo ; the people 
jeer a little as he puts on his best cotta and stole, but our 
own opinion is that it is as much the variety in his daily 
round as the extra donation which appeals to him. Our 
small offering, being of paper, cannot be dropped into 
the holy water, and while I am placing it in the envelope 
the good father looks the other way; then as we shake 
hands we pretend that an envelope is all part of hand- 
shaking, but really we each know that the other 
knows. 

He is a simple person with a round, good-natured face, 
a portly figure, and clean hands. While he blesses our 
blossoming roof-top, he stops to look at everything, and 
remarks how the roses have grown since last year. 

"Now, let us go and bless the young cypresses,'' he says, 
"and on the way we must not forget the cistern nor the 
window-boxes and the seeds." 

"Then there is the new potato patch," interrupts Fer- 
ruccio. 

"Gid, gia" he answers, "you are right. And, Signora, 
you are going to photograph us again this year, non e 
vero?" 

206 



Golden Trumpets 

The conversation is kept up as a running accompani- 
ment of the showering of holy water and the murmuring 
of prayers. Then he catches his cotta in a rose — 

"Perbacco" cries the Prevosto, as he looks at the tear 
in the lace. 

On the Rogation days the priest is called upon to pro- 
tect the fields and the vineyards and the olive groves, and, 
with the blessing of the Roman Church, to foster the spirit 
of vegetation. Mr. Warde Fowler says that the priest of 
to-day does much what the Fr aires Arvales did in the 
infancy of Rome when they led the procession of victims 
through the fields, driven by the garlanded crowd, carry- 
ing olive branches and chanting. 

Fortunate is he who witnesses the scene at Assisi on 
a clear and sunny morning, when everything seems young 
except the piazza of San Rufmo — that bore a look of 
age and pain when it was built. After the procession 
through the narrow streets and into the open country, all 
return with song and prayer to this little brown piazza 
of the cathedral, where the blessing with the sacrament 
is given to the kneeling crowd. Then the arch -priest, 
in yellow cope beneath a baldachin of old gold, carrying 
on high the pyx, and the canons in purple capes trimmed 
with fur, and the members of confraternities with crimson 
and yellow tippets, all file into the cathedral beneath 
the doorway of sculptured griffins, gargoyles, and strange 
birds and beasts, and their voices grow faint to those in 
the piazza. 

Lina Duff Gordon 

in Home Life in Italy 



207 



The Book of Easter 

The Eternal Spring ^> ^> ^> ^y ^y 

' I ^HE birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, 
-*■ Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 
The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, 
Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, 
Lead on the eternal Spring. 

John Milton 

An Easter Love-Song ^> ^^ *c> ^> *o 

(He sings) 

TAEAREST, it is the Easter-time, 
*^* The love-time of the year, 
And every little bird in rhyme 

Is telling far and near 
His passion to his listening mate . . . 

Shall I alone, then, fear? 

Nay . . . when the salmon -berry shows 

Its crimson, veiny bells, 
And when the shad-bush whitely blows 

In lonely forest dells, 
May I not tell my love in rhyme, 

As his the robin tells? 

When up the full veins of the pine 

The saps push lustily, 
And blossoms star the twinflower vine 

Around each mossy tree, 
And wandering silver sea-birds mate 

In hollows of the sea; 

When the last fluffy snowbird goes 
The way that winter went, 
208 



I 



Golden Trumpets 

And the thorn is scarlet on the rose, 

And the willow's silver spent, 
And here and there and everywhere 

Is blown the violet's scent, 

Then happy may I courage take, 

By love and hope made strong, 
And pray thee, dearest, to awake, 

When the night is sweet and long, 
And whitely from thy casement lean, 
To hear my trembling song. 
Ella Higginson 

from The Voice of April Land 

The Spring Chorus ^^^ ^* ^> ^^ -^ ^> 

T "X THEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, 

* ^ The mother of months in meadow or plain 
Fills the shadows and windy places 

With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; 
And the brown bright nightingale amorous 
Is half assuaged for Itylus, 
For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, 

The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. 

Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers, 

Maiden most perfect, lady of light, 
With a noise of winds and many rivers, 

With a clamor of waters, and with might; 
Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, 
Over the splendor and speed of thy feet; 
For the faint east quickens, and the wan west shivers, 

Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night, 
p 209 



The Book of Easter 

Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, 
Fold our hands round her knees, and cling? 

O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, 
Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring ! 

For the stars and the winds are unto her 

As raiment, as sons of the harp-player; 

For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, 

And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing. 

For winter's rains and ruins are over, 

And all the season of snows and sins; 
The days dividing lover and lover, 

The light that loses, the night that wins; 
And time remembered is grief forgotten, 
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, 
And in green underwood and cover 

Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 

A. C. Swinburne ■ 
in Atalanta in Calydon 

April ^^ ^> ^^ ^* ^^ ^> ^> ^> 

/^~\H ! to be in England now that April's there, 

^^ And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, 

unaware, , 
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf 
Round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf, 
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 
In England — now ! 

And after April, when May follows, 
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows; 

210 



Golden Trumpets 

Hark ! where my blossomed pear tree in the hedge 
Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover 
Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's edge — 
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over 
Lest you should think he never could recapture 
The first fine careless rapture ! 
And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew, 
All will be gay when moontide wakes anew. 
The buttercups, the little children's dower, 
Far brighter than this gaudy melon -flower ! 

Robert Browning 



Little Boy Blue *^ *^* *^ <^ ^> ^ 

ITTLE Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, 
-*— ' Summon the day of deliverance in; 
We are weary of bearing the burden of scorn, 

As we yearn for the home that we never shall win; 
For here there is weeping and sorrow and sin, 

And the poor and the weak are a spoil for the strong J 
Ah ! when shall the song of the ransomed begin ? 

The world is grown weary with waiting so long. 



Little Boy Blue, you are gallant and brave, 

There was never a doubt in those clear bright eyes; 
Come, challenge the grim dark Gates of the Grave 

As the skylark sings to those infinite skies! 
This world is a dream, say the old and the wise, 

And its rainbows arise o'er the false and the true 
But the mists of the morning are made of our sighs, — 

Ah, shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy Blue ! 

211 



The Book of Easter 

Little Boy Blue, if the child-heart knows, 

Sound but a note as a little one may; 
And the thorns of the desert shall bloom with the rose, 

And the Healer shall wipe all tears away; 
Little Boy Blue, we are all astray, 

The sheep's in the meadow, the cows in the corn, 
Ah, set the world right, as a little one may; 

Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn ! 
Alfred Noyes 

in The Flower of Old Japan 

An Old-fashioned Spring ^> ^* ^^ ^^ 

F HEAR a good deal about an old-fashioned winter, but 
■*■ not often of an old-fashioned spring; yet the latter 
was more unique than the former. It began in the January 
thaw, when we not unfrequently had a warm spell of three 
weeks during which the plough was put into the uplands — ■ 
these were openings in the solid forest, and on three 
sides the beech trees stood unbroken. The few acres of 
cleared land made a sunny sward that dried very easily, 
but it was pretty well filled with stumps, and occasionally 
a charred shaft standing twenty or thirty feet high. While 
the plough was at work, we boys were kindling fires in the 
stumps, which we gradually reduced to fertilizing ashes. 
Harmless snakes would run out, thrusting their tongues 
at us. So it was that plot after plot of virgin forest be- 
came meadow or corn land ; and there was a deal of sweet- 
ness in this simple pioneer preparation for crowding civili- 
zation. We came for the most part from Connecticut, 
and we had Connecticut ways and notions to the brim; 
but we were full of poetry, too. Our work was always 



Golden Trumpets 

with two things, worship and play. My father's custom 
was to quit his work an hour before sunset, that he might 
spend the time with us studying the little things of nature, 
over the knolls and among the trees. 

Hardly was the January thaw well over when it was time 
to bring out the spiles and tap the maple trees. We did 
not have far to go, for the forests came close down to our 
homes and hugged us under their shelter. The spiles 
were made of elder, with the pith pushed out, and one 
end sharpened to drive into the tree. The holes were 
bored with a half -inch auger, two of them about six inches 
apart and three feet from the ground. Under the ends 
of the spiles were placed all sorts of pans and kettles until 
there were hardly enough pans in the house to hold the 
milk. Three times every day these were emptied into 
pails and carried to the big iron kettles that hung over the 
fire down in the hollow. There was not a match in our 
world in 1830; we had to light our fires with coals from 
the kitchen stove carried between two pieces of curled 
bark. Often we had to run hard to keep the coals from 
going out before we could get them to the woods. Oc- 
casionally we boys would stop to blow them, and some- 
times we had a stumble that sent us back on our errand. 
Ah ! but that was fun, when we handed che coals to father, 
and he, with nice woodcraft, placed them among the 
splinters of dry hemlock or bits of sumac wood and blew 
till they crackled among the twigs. Soon the fire was burn- 
ing and eating up great sticks of maple and logs of beech 
that were skilfully piled under and around the two kettles. 

The first kettle took the fresh sap as it was brought in 
the pails. This was constantly skimmed of bits of wood 
and leaves, until it was fairly clean. The second kettle 

213 



The Book of Easter 

took the thickening syrup; and this must be carefully 
watched lest it boil over. As soon as thick enough, the 
syrup was carried to the house to be cleansed, and still 
further boiled until it was brought to the sugar grain. 
At all stages, I assure you that boiling maple syrup has 
a delight peculiar to itself, for it must constantly be sampled 
— and that is what boys were made for. 

Overhead the woodpeckers tapped as busily as folk 
below; and the yellow-bellied sort did it for the same 
purpose — he liked sweet sap. . . . 

The robins were looked for about the fifth of March, and 
the bluebirds a few days earlier. I still wonder that 
the robin was then so great a favorite, because no other 
bird did so much to prevent us from getting a crop of 
cherries and berries. I think it was because he was the 
harbinger of warmer weather. 

But to me the flight of the bees and butterflies was even 
more welcome than that of the birds. My father kept 
one hundred hives of bees, a few of them in the old cone- 
shaped straw hives. When it was warm enough for a quick 
run of sap, the bees would take a flight for health as well 
as food, and not a few would be tempted to fly over the 
snowbanks and never get back. They came to the maple 
grove where they sucked chips and buzzed their happiness. 

About the first of April was the time for bonne-fires. 
All around the horizon they spoke out to each other just 
as the daylight deepened into dusk. Old and young 
shouted and worked together from seven until nine, and 
the waste, which had been raked from lawns and gardens, 
was flung upon the burning piles. The whole air was 
instinct with life. Even the smoke itself was humorous, 
for it chased us about, no matter which way the wind blew. 

214 



Golden Trumpets 

It is not easy in spring to get rid of the notion that every- 
thing is happy — that the air and the brown earth and the 
leafing trees and the grass, and the bonne -fires themselves 
are rejoicing together because spring has come. Spring 
is life — new life — and it throbs through all Nature. 

E. P. Powell 

Reprinted from the Independent by permission 

Spring ^> ^- *^ ^> *^ ^> ^> ^5" 

TVTOW fades the last long streak of snow, 
*■ ^ Now bourgeons every maze of quick 

About the flowering squares, and thick 
By ashen roots the violets blow. 

Now rings the woodland loud and long, 
The distance takes a lovelier hue, 
And drowned in yonder living blue 

The lark becomes a sightless song. 

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 
The flocks are whiter down the vale, 
And milkier every milky sail 

On winding stream or distant sea; 

Where now the sea-mew pipes, or dives 
In yonder greening gleam, and fly 
The happy birds, that change their sky 

To build and brood, that live their lives 

From land to land; and in my breast 
Spring wakens too; and my regret 
Becomes an April violet, 

And buds and blossoms like the rest. 

Alfred Tennyson 

2iS 



p 



The Book of Easter 



In Springtide ^> ^^ ^^ <^ ^y ^^ ^y 

^HIS is the hour, the day, 
The time, the season sweet. 
Quick! listen, laggard feet, 
Brook not delay: 
Love flies, youth pauses, May tide will not last; 
Forth, forth while yet 'tis time, before the spring is past. 

The summer's glories shine 

From all her garden ground, 
With lilies prankt around, 
And roses fine; 
But the pink blooms or white upon the bursting trees, 
Primrose and violet sweet, what charm has June like these ? 

This is the time of song. 

From many a joyous throat, 
Mute all the dull year long, 
Soars love's clear note: 
Summer is dumb, and faint with dust and heat; 
This is the mirthful time when every sound is sweet. 

Fair day of larger light, 

Life's own appointed hour, 
Young souls bud forth in white — 
The world's a-flower. 
Thrill, youthful heart; soar upward, limpid voice: 
Blossoming time is come — rejoice, rejoice, rejoice! 

Lewis Morris 



216 




Du Cane. 
VIEWING THE PLUM BLOSSOMS, JAPAN. 



Golden Trumpets 

The Easter Robin <<^ ^> ^> ^> ^> 

A SWEET legend of the Greek Church tells us that 
^~** " Our Lord used to feed the robins round his mother's 
door, when a boy; moreover, that the robin never left 
the sepulchre till the Resurrection, and, at the Ascension, 
joined in the angels' song." 

Another popular story, however, relates that when 
Christ was on His way to Calvary toiling beneath the 
burden of the cross, the robin, in its kindness, plucked 
a thorn from the crown that oppressed His brow, and 
the blood of the divine martyr dyed the breast of the 
bird, which ever since has borne the insignia of its char- 
ity. A variant of the same legend makes the thorn 
wound the bird itself and its own blood dye its breast. 
Alexander F. Chamberlain 



A Song of Waking ^> ^^ ^> ^^ ^> ^> 

HHHE maple buds are red, are red, 
■*■ The robin's call is sweet; 
The blue sky floats above thy head, 

The violets kiss thy feet. 
The sun paints emeralds on the spray, 

And sapphires on the lake; 
A million wings unfold to-day, 

A million flowers awake. 

Their starry cups the cowslips lift 

To catch the golden light, 
And like a spirit fresh from shrift 

The cherry tree is white. 
217 



The Book of Easter 

The innocent looks up with eyes 

That know no deeper shade 
Than falls from wings of butterflies 

Too fair to make afraid. 

With long green raiment blown and wet, 

The willows hand in hand 
Lean low to teach the rivulet 

What trees may understand 
Of murmurous tune and idle dance, 

With broken rhymes whose flow 
A poet's ear can catch, perchance, 

A score of miles below. 

Across the sky to fairy realm 

There sails a cloud-born ship: 
A wind sprite standeth at the helm, 

With laughter on his lips; 
The melting masts are tipped with gold, 

The 'broidered pennons stream; 
The vessel beareth in her hold 

The lading of a dream. 

It is the hour to rend thy chains, 

The blossom time of souls; 
Yield all the rest to cares and pains, 

To-day delight controls. 
Gird on thy glory and thy pride, 

For growth is of the sun; 
Expand thy wings what'er betide, 

The summer is begun. 

Katharine Lee Bates 
218 



Golden Trumpets 

What will the Violets be ? ^> ^> ^y ^> 

A 1 THAT will the violets be 
* * There in the Spring of springs? 
What will the bird-song be 

Where the very tree-bough sings? 
What will their Easter be 

Where never are dead to mourn, 
But brightly the faces ask, 

" O, when will the rest be born?" 

Brighter the Easter shines 

On the faces here below, 

That they are behind the flowers, 

The heart of the living glow. 

Beautiful secret, wait ! 

A morrow or two, and we 

Shall know in the Spring of springs 

What the violets will be. 

William C. Gannett 

in The Thought of God 
By permission of the Author 

Green Things Growing ^y ^> ^> ^s ^> 

/^\H, the green things growing, the green things grow- 

^ ing, 

The faint, sweet smell of the green things growing! 

I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, 

Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing. 

Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things 

growing ! 
How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing; 

219 



The Book of Easter 

In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight 

Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing. 

I love, I love them so, — my green things growing ! 
And I think that they love me, without false showing; 
For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much, 
With the soft mute comfort of green things growing. 

Dinah Maria Mulock 



" Is Life Worth Living?" ^ ^ ^ ^ 
[S life worth living? Yes, so long 



i 



As spring revives the year, 
And hails us with the cuckoo's song 

To show that she is here; 
So long as May of April takes, 

In smiles and tears, farewell, 
And wind-flowers dapple all the brakes, 

And primroses the dell; 
While children in the woodlands yet 

Adorn their little laps 
With lady-smock and violet 

And daisy-chain their caps; 
While over orchard daffodils 

Cloud shadows float and fleet, 
And ouzel pipes and laverock trills, 

And young lambs buck and bleat; 
So long as that which bursts the bud 

And swells and tunes the rill, 
Makes springtime in the maiden's blood, 

Life is worth living still. 

Alfred Austin 
220 



Golden Trumpets 



The Spring Call ^ 



^v> ^> ^^ ^O ^y 



DOWN Wessex way, when spring's a-shine, 
The blackbird's "pret-ty de-urr!" 
In Wessex accents marked as mine 
Is heard afar and near. 

He flutes it strong, as if in song; 

No R's of feebler tone 
Than his appear in " pretty dear," 

Have blackbirds ever known. 

Yet they pipe "prattie deerh! " I glean, 

Beneath a Scottish sky, 
And "pehty de-aw!" amid the treen 

Of Middlesex or nigh. 

While some folk say — perhaps in play — 

Who know the Irish isle, 
'Tis "purrity dare!" in treeland there 

When songsters would beguile. 

Well: I'll say what the listening birds 

Say, hearing "pret-ty de-urr I " 
However strangers sound such words, 

That's how we sound them here. 

Yes, in this clime at pairing time, 

As soon as eyes can see her 

At dawn of day, the proper way 

To call is "pret-ty de-urr!" 

Thomas Hardy 
221 



The Book of Easter 

Robin's Come ^^ ^* *cy ^> ^> ^> 

T^ROM the elm-tree's topmost bough, 
■*■ Hark ! the robin's early song ! 
Telling one and all that now 

Merry springtime hastes along; 
Welcome tidings dost thou bring, 
Little harbinger of spring; 
Robin's come ! 

Of the winter we are weary, 

Weary of the frost and snow, 
Longing for the sunshine cheery, 

And the brooklet's gurgling flow; 
Gladly, then, we hear thee sing 
The reveille of the spring, 
Robin's come! 

Ring it out o'er hill and plain, 

Through the garden's lonely bowers, 

Till the green leaves dance again, 
Till the air is sweet with flowers ! 

Wake the cowslips by the rill, 

Wake the yellow daffodil ! 
Robin's come ! 

Then, as thou wert wont of yore, 

Build thy nest and rear thy young 
Close beside our cottage door, 

In the woodbine leaves among; 
Hurt or harm thou need'st not fear, 
Nothing rude shall venture near. 
Robin's come ! 

William W. Caldwell 

222 



Golden Trumpets 

An Apple Orchard in the Spring ^^ ^> ^^ 

TTAVE you seen an apple orchard in the spring? 

-■--*■ In the spring? 

An English apple orchard in the spring? 
When the spreading trees are hoary 
With their wealth of promised glory, 
And the mavis sings its story, 
In the spring. 

Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? 

In the spring? 
And caught their subtle odors in the spring? 
Pink buds pouting at the light, 
Crumpled petals baby-white, 
Just to touch them a delight — 
In the spring. 

Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? 

In the spring? 
Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? 
When the pink cascades are falling, 
And the silver brooklets brawling, 
And the cuckoo bird soft calling, 
In the spring. 

If you have not, then you know not, in the spring, 

In the spring, 
Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring, 
No sweet sight can I remember 
Half so precious, half so tender, 
As the apple blossoms render 
In the spring. 

William Martin 

223 



The Book of Easter 



Song from "Pippa Passes" ^>- -^ ^* *o 

r I ^HE year's at the spring 
-*■ And day's at the morn: 
Morning's at seven; 
The hill-side's dew -pearled; 
The lark's on the wing; 
The snail's on the thorn: 
God's in His heaven — 
All's right with the world ! % 

Robert Browning 



224 



VI 
AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST! 




2^;*3^B£&I^^^ 



O 



AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST ! 

" Their Eyes were Opened " 

The Life Abundant 

Consolation 

Immortality - 

Angels to Be 

New Life 

Sweet Day, so Cool and Bright 

The Central Truth of Paul's Gospel 

" The Great Companion is Dead " 

The Hope of Death 

Easter Day 

Easter Morning 

The Awakening 

An Easter Message 

Easter 



tpBBS 




A WAKE, thou that sleepest ! and arise from the dead, 
-*■*■ and Christ shall give thee light. 
For now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first- 
fruits of them that sleep. 
Wherefore, reckon ye yourselves to be dead unto sin, but 

alive unto God, through Jesus Christ. 
For now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first- 
fruits of them that sleep. 

An Easter Anthem 



228 



"Their Eyes were Opened " *^y ^> ^ ^^ 

A ND behold, two of the disciples were going that 
^*- very day to a village named Emmaus, which was 
threescore furlongs from Jerusalem. And they com- 
muned with each other of all these things which had 
happened. And it came to pass, while they communed 
and questioned together, that Jesus himself drew near, 
and went with them. But their eyes were holden that 
they should not know him. And he said unto them, 
"What communications are these that ye have one with 
another, as ye walk?" And they stood still, looking sad. 
And one of them, named Cleopas, answering said unto 
him, "Dost thou alone sojourn in Jerusalem and not 
know the things which are come to pass there in these 
days?" And he said unto them, "What things?" And 
they said unto him, "The things concerning Jesus of 
Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and 
word before God and all the people: and how the chief 
priests and our rulers delivered him up to be condemned 
to death, and crucified him. But we hoped that it was 
he which should redeem Israel. Yea and beside all this, 
it is now the third day since these things came to pass. 
Moreover certain women of our company amazed us, 
having been early at the tomb; and when they found 
not his body, they came, saying, that they had also seen 
a vision of angels, which said that he was alive. And 
certain of them that were with us went to the tomb, and 
found it even so as the women had said: but him they 
saw not." And he said unto them, "O foolish men, and 
slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have 
spoken! Behoved it not the Christ to suffer these 

229 



The Book of Easter 

things, and to enter into his glory?" And beginning 
from Moses and from all the prophets, he interpreted to 
them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. 
And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they were 
going: and he made as though he would go further. 
And they constrained him, saying, "Abide with us: for 
it is toward evening, and the day is now far spent." 
And he went in to abide with them. And it came to 
pass, when he sat down with them to meat, he took 
bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them. 
And their eyes were opened, and they knew him: and 
he vanished out of their sight. And they said one to 
another, "Was not our heart burning within us, while he 
spake to us in the way, while he opened to us the scrip- 
tures?" And they rose up that very hour, and re- 
turned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered 
together, and them that were with them, saying, "The 
Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon." 
And they rehearsed the things that happened in the way, 
and how he was known of them in the breaking of the 
bread. 

And as they spake these things, he himself stood in the 
midst of them, and saith unto them, "Peace be unto 
you." But they were terrified and affrighted, and sup- 
posed that they beheld a spirit. And he said unto 
them, "Why are ye troubled ? and wherefore do reason- 
ings arise in your heart ? See my hands and my feet, 
that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for the spirit 
hath not flesh and bones, as ye behold me having." 
And when he had said this, he shewed them his hands and 
his feet. And while they still disbelieved for joy, and 
wondered, he said unto them, "Have ye here anything 

230 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest ! 

to eat ?" And they gave him a piece of a broiled fish. 
And he took it, and did eat before them. 

And he said unto them, "These are my words which 
I spake unto you, while I was yet with you, how that all 
things must needs be fulfilled, which are written in the 
law of Moses, and the prophets, and the psalms, con- 
cerning me." Then opened he their mind, that they 
might understand the scriptures; and he said unto them: 
"Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer, and 
rise again from the dead the third day; and that repent- 
ance and remission of sins should be preached in his 
name unto all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 
Ye are witnesses of these things. And behold, I send 
forth the promise of my Father upon you: but tarry ye 
in the city, until ye be clothed with power from on high." 

And he led them out until they were over against 
Bethany; and he lifted up his hands, and blessed them. 
And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he parted 
from them, and was carried up into heaven. And they 
worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great 
joy: and were continually in the temple, blessing God. 

From the Gospel of St. Luke 

The Life Abundant <^ ^^ *^ *^ ^^ 

"OUT, indeed, what Christ brought into the world 
*~* was not so much new truth as fresh life — not so 
much ethical principles and precepts unknown before, 
as an enlarged capacity of moral obedience and growth. 
It is this which raises Christ above the level of the teacher, 
•and gives Him His claim to be called, however you may 
define the word, the Saviour of the world. ... One 



The Book of Easter 

of those deep sayings which seem to me to show that the 
author of the Fourth Gospel had access to a genuine fund 
of Christian traditions, which but for him would have 
perished, is "I am come that they may have life, and 
may have it more abundantly." And this I accept as an 
authoritative description of Christ's mission. But if it is 
so accepted, I must go on to point out that the possession 
of life must be taken as the proof of contact and com- 
munion with Christ ; that the qualifications for standing in 
the line of Christian affiliation are not intellectual, but moral 
and spiritual; and that it ought to be impossible to deny 
the name of Christian to any who acknowledge Christ as 
their Master, and can show any genuine likeness to Him. 
This test might unchurch some loudly professing believers ; 
it would admit many heretics to the fold; but it would 
at last gather in from diverse communions the pure, the 
self -forgetting, and the brave, and would make Christianity 
as wide a thing as Christendom. 

The Hibbert Lectures, 1883 

Consolation <^ ^> ^> ^> *^ ^> ^* 

"\ \ THEN some beloved voice that was to you 

* * Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, 
And silence against which you dare not cry, 
Aches round you like a strong disease and new — 
What hope? what help? what music will undo 
That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sign, 
Not reason's subtle count; not melody 
Of viols, nor of pipes that famous blew; 
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, 
Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees 
232 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest! 

To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws 
Self -chanted, nor the angels' sweet all hails, 
Melt in the smile of God: nay, none of these. 
Speak THOU, availing Christ ! — and fill this pause. 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Immortality *^ ^> -^> ^> *^ ^^ ^> 

T^OIL'D by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn, 
■ We leave the brutal world to take its way, 

And, Patience ! in another life, we say, 
The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne. 

And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn 

The world's poor routed leavings? or will they, 
Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day, 

Support the fervors of the heavenly morn? 

No, no ! the energy of life may be 

Kept on after the grave, but not begun; 
And he who flagg'd not in earthly strife, 
From strength to strength advancing — only he, 
His soul well-knit, and all his battles won, 
Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life. 

Matthew Arnold 

Angels to Be -^ *^y *o -^ ^> ^> *^y 

T TOW sweet it were if, without feeble fright, 
■*■ ■*• Or dying of the dreadful, beauteous sight, 
An angel came to us, and we could bear 
To see him issue from the silent air 
At evening in our room, and bend on ours 
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers 

2 33 



The Book of Easter 

News of dear friends, and children, who have never 
Been dead indeed, — as we shall know forever. 
Alas! we think not what we daily see 
About our hearths, — angels that are to be, 
Or may be if they will, and we prepare 
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air, — 
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings 
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. 

Leigh Hunt 



New Life x ^> ^^ ^> ^^> ^^ ^> ^ 

in* VERY day is a new beginning, 
■*— ' Every morn is the world made tiew; 
Ye who are weary of sorrow and sinning, 

Here is a beautiful hope for you — 

A hope for me and a hope for you. 

All the past things are past and over, 

The tasks are done and the tears are shed; 

Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover, 

Yesterday's wounds which smarted and bled 
Are healed with the healing which night has shed. 

Yesterday now is part of forever, 

Bound up in a sheaf, which God holds tight, 

With glad days, and sad days, and bad days which never 
Shall visit us more with their bloom and blight, 
Their fulness of sunshine or sorrowful night. 

Let them go, since we cannot relieve them, 
Cannot undo and cannot atone; 

234 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest ! 

God, in His mercy receive, forgive them ; 
Only the new days are our own, 
To-day is ours, and to-day alone. 

Here are the skies all burnished brightly, 
Here is the spent earth, all reborn; 

Here are the tired limbs, springing lightly 

To face the sun and to share with the morn 
In the chrism of dew and the cool of dawn. 

Every day is a fresh beginning; 

Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain, 

And spite of old sorrow and older sinning, 
And puzzles forecasted and possible pain, 
Take heart with the day and begin again. 

Susan Coolidge 

Sweet Day, so Cool and Bright ^^ ^* *^> 

O WEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
^ The bridal of the earth and sky: 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
Thy root is even in its grave, 

And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 

A box where sweets compacted lie, 
My music shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

2 35 



The Book of Easter 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 

Like a season' d timber, never gives; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 

George Herbert, 1593 

The Central Truth of Paul's Gospel ^ ^ -q> 

HHHE great distinction between the writings of Paul and 
-*■ the other New Testament scriptures, is that, to Paul, 
the Gospel was a system of religious thought, based upon a 
religious experience, a definite Christian philosophy, as 
well as a way of Christian living. There is a unity charac- 
teristic of system, an interrelation of parts due to the work- 
ing of a logical mind. Paul is essentially a preacher, but he 
is a preacher with a very definite theology at his back. 
He is a teacher with the richest spiritual experience, but the 
material has not been merely collected, it has been scien- 
tifically arranged. The revelation he has received is from 
the Lord, but it has passed through his mind, bears the 
impress of his own thought, has been constructed into the 
system. Paul was a theologian, it is true, but he was a 
theologian as the result of being a Christian, not a Christian 
as the result of being a theologian. . . . 

The foundation of Paul's Gospel upon which he reared, 
first for himself, and then for the Church, his system of 
theology, is the resurrection of Jesus, of which he became 
assured on the road to Damascus. As he insists in his 
letter to the Corinthians, — If Christ has not been raised, 
then his whole faith is vain, he is still where he was in his 
old Jewish days, under the condemnation of the Law, 
and as the subject of a terrible delusion, he is most to be 

236 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest ! 

pitied. It cannot be too strongly emphasized that it was 
a fact and not a theory, experience and not argument, 
which revolutionized his thought. He had been im- 
pressed by the argument of Stephen, his logical mind 
had acknowledged the steps by which Stephen was draw- 
ing him to the inevitable conclusion that Jesus was the 
Messiah, but it was a fact, terrible and impossible to 
avoid, namely, the cross of Jesus, which barred his further 
progress. It needed therefore another and equally certain 
fact, the resurrection of the crucified Jesus, to remove out 
of his way the great stumbling-block. The appearance on 
the Damascus road supplied him with that fact. He either 
did see Jesus, or he firmly believed that he had seen him. 
It was either fact or fancy. Now if it were a fact, it 
would satisfactorily explain and account for the change 
which passed over him, because it provided him with the 
very same basis for his faith which the other apostles had, 
and would set the death of Jesus, his great stumbling-block, 
in an entirely different light. He would at least be able to 
contemplate that event from a different standpoint, and it 
would no longer present the impossible conclusion from 
which his mind had revolted. But to be capable of pro- 
ducing this effect, it must be as real and actual a fact as 
the crucifixion. He must be as much convinced of the 
reality of the one as of the other. If we examine his 
theology we find it was wholly based on the conviction 
that the Jesus who had been crucified had also been 
raised from the dead, and he asserts with the strongest 
possible emphasis, that if Christ has not been raised Judaism 
has not been superseded. 

We have to ask ourselves whether such a character as 
that of Saul, with such a conception of the supreme im- 

237 



The Book of Easter 

portance of the resurrection, would have parted with the 
Judaism in which he had been brought up, and which was 
built into the very texture of his being, unless he had satis- 
fied himself that the resurrection of Christ was indubitable 
fact and not mere fancy. No one has ever appreciated 
the significance of that event more than Paul. To no one 
could its reality have been of more vital importance. The 
opposition to what in these days we call the scientific spirit, 
which a belief in the resurrection of Jesus is supposed to 
present, is more than matched by the opposition which 
the death and resurrection of Jesus presented to the mind 
of the Pharisee Saul. The event was one which he had 
exceptional opportunities of examining, and his prejudices 
against the whole conception would more than atone 
for any lack of that scientific training for the examination 
of such an event which would satisfy modern demands. 
He was undoubtedly fully acquainted with ail the Jewish 
authorities could advance against the assertion of the dis- 
ciples, and he had no doubt fully accepted their version of 
what had taken place. It is of course always open for any 
one to assert that the wish to believe is productive of the 
belief. The point, however, is that we have not the slight- 
est ground for supposing that Paul had any such wish, but 
on the contrary we know he had the strongest reasons for 
the opposite. 

The resurrection of Jesus is not only Paul's starting- 
point, its reality is the foundation of his Christian expe- 
rience of the exalted Christ. He not only saw Him on the 
road to Damascus, he was conscious of the permanent 
influence of Christ upon his life. He had fellowship with 
Christ. 

Bernard Lucas in The Fifth Gospel 
238 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest! 

"The Great Companion is Dead" -^ ^> *^ 

A/OU are familiar with the pathetic confession of 
■*■ Professor Clifford, whose life was so brilliant yet so 
tragic — "The heavens are now empty, the earth soulless, 
and the Great Companion dead." Overmastered by the 
spirit he had invoked, carried away by deeply subtle diffi- 
culties of which simpler ages and simpler lives are ignorant, 
all that he knew and felt was that for him the world had 
lost its wonder and bloom, life its freshness and charm; 
that he was spiritually desolate, alone in the universe, 
unloved and un cared for save by his kind — for "the Great 
Companion is dead." Yet to doubt God is not to lose God : 
the Heavenly Father was near, we may be sure, to that 
troubled soul in its gloom as He was to the Cross when the 
cry came out of its darkness, "Why hast Thou forsaken 
Me?" But one often thinks that if some clear and unde- 
niable voice could call across the world, "The Great Com- 
panion is dead," there are many people here and every- 
where, within as well as without the churches, in whose 
lives such a tremendous announcement would not and 
could not make much practical difference, so little, alas ! so 
little, is God to them. 

To forget God is the temptation which besets every one 
of us. He with whom we have to do is always near us, yet 
it is only now and then that we remember Him, have any 
real impression of His being and glory, any vital and vivid 
apprehension of His Presence, of what He is to us and of 
what we owe to Him. A conviction which ought to equal 
in force that which we possess of our own existence is 
often dim and faint, ready to fade away and perish. As a 
consequence we do not see our actions in relation to God and 

2 39 



The Book of Easter 

fail to discern the Tightness or the wrongness which they 
derive from that relation. Not till this conviction is re- 
stored to us in its freshness and strength, not till we live 
remembering God, will our life be what it ought to be. 
John Hunter 

in De Profundis Clamavi 

The Hope of Death ^y -<o -<^ ^> ^> 

HHHEY are all gone into a world of light, 
■*- And I alone sit lingering here! 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 
Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed 

After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory 

Whose light doth trample on my days - — 

My days, which are at the best but dull and gory, 
Mere glimmerings and decays. 

O holy Hope, and high Humility ! 

High as the heavens above. 
These are your walks, and ye have showed them me, 

To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just ! 

Shining nowhere but in the dark; 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man outlook that mark ! 
240 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, 

At first sight, if the bird be flown; 
But what fair field or grove he sings in now, 

That is to him unknown. 

And yet as angels in some brighter dreams 
Call to the soul when men doth sleep, 

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, 
And into glory peep ! 

Henry Vaughan 



Easter Day ^> ^> ^> ^^ *^ x ^> ^> 

T LIVE, you see, 

-*- Go through the world, try, prove, reject. 

Prefer, still struggling to effect 

My warfare; happy that I can 

Be crossed and thwarted as a man, 

Not left in God's contempt apart, 

With ghastly smooth life, dead at heart, 

Tame in earth's paddock as her prize. 

Thank God, she still each method tries 

To catch me, who may yet escape, 

She knows, — the fiend in angel's shape ! 

Thank God, no paradise stands barred 
To entry, and I find it hard 
To be a Christian, as I said! 
Still every now and then my head 
Raised glad, sinks mournful — all grows drear 
Spite of the sunshine, while I fear 
And think, "How dreadful to be grudged 
No ease henceforth, as one that's judged. 
£ 241 



The Book of Easter 

Condemned to earth forever, shut 
From Heaven!" 
But Easter Day breaks ! But 
Christ rises ! Mercy every way 
Is infinite, — and who can say? 

Robert Browning 

Easter Morning -<o <^ ^> ^> ^^ ^> 

TV /TOST glorious Lord of life, that on this day 
^ ^ Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin, 
And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away 
Captivity thence captive, us to win; 
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, 
And grant that we, for whom Thou didest die, 
Being with Thy dear blood clean washed from sin, 
May live forever in felicity: 
And that Thy love we weighing worthily 
May likewise love Thee for the same again: 
And for Thy sake, that all like dear didst buy, 
With love may one another entertain. 
So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; 
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. 

Edmund Spenser 

The Awakening ^> -^ ^> ^> ^ ^> 

J" WILL take heart again; the spring 
^ Comes over Sehome hill, 
And like tall, splintered spears of gold 

The firs stand, soft and still; 
Happily in its moist, brown throat 
Chatters a loosened rill, 
242 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest ! 

Below, across the violet sea, 

With glistening, restless wings, 

The sea-birds cleave the purple air 
In white and endless rings; 

Somewhere, within an open space, 
One of God's own larks sings. 

The warm breath of the waking earth 
Curls up from myriad lips, 

And who has loved and lost now drinks 
In deep and trembling lips, 

With memory's passionate pulse astir 
From heart to finger-tips. 

The ferns lift delicate veiny palms 

In dimples of the hills, 
The spendthrift hyacinth's perfume 

Along the pure air spills; 
There is a breathing, faint and far, 

From the dark throats of the mills. 

The spider flings a glittering thread 
From dewy blade to blade, 

A robin drops on bended wing, 
Near me, yet unafraid; 

The early frosts have taken rout 
Before the red sun's raid. 

Behold, the earth is glad again, 

And she has taken heart, 
And in her swelling, fruitful breast, 

God's own love-flowers start. 
(Lord, may I not take courage, too? 

I and my old self part?) 

243 



The Book of Easter 

Yea, when the birds grow dumb again 

With pure delights that thrill 
Their rapt and innocent souls, till they 

Have not desire or will 
For song, or sun, or any thing 

But passion deep and still, 

I will go into the dim wood 

And lie prone on the sod, 
My breast close to the warm earth-breast, 

Prostrate, alone with God, 
Of all his poor and useless ones, 

The poorest, useless clod; 

And I will pray (so earnestly 

He cannot help but hear) : 
"Lord, Lord, let me take heart again, 

Let my faith shine white and clear, 
Let me awaken with the earth, 
And leave my old self here ! " 

Ella Higginson 
in When the Birds go North Again 

An Easter Message ^> ^> ^> ^> ^> 

CET aside, if you have ever had it, the notion that im- 
^ mortal or eternal life is something to come by and by, 
after you have died and risen again from the dead. Under- 
stand that immortality is a present possession. You are 
immortal or you never will be. Then consider what are 
the laws of this spiritual life, this immortal life, this eternal 
life, compliance with which is necessary to the maintenance 
of it. First of all, you must desire it. It must be an object 

244 



Awake, Thou That Sleepest! 

of controlling desire. " Blessed are they that hunger and 
thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled," but they 
must hunger and thirst. The second condition of the spir- 
itual life is seeking it from Him who is the reservoir of life. 
That is, it is prayer; for prayer is not primarily asking 
for God's things, it is receiving life from God. Spirit with 
spirit can meet, says Tennyson. Prayer assumes that spirit 
with spirit can meet. Come to God that you may find 
strength, health, comfort, inspiration. Some of you will say, 
First I must know there is a God before I can pray. You are 
wrong. First you must pray that you may know that there 
is a God. You must live before you can believe. If you 
would have a right to the tree of life, if you would have the 
right to know that there is a tree of life, you must seek this 
immortal life here, and seek it from the God who is here, and 
seek it through the channels that He opens for you. Live 
here and now the immortal life ; and then if you are mistaken 
and there is no life after the grave, still you will have been 
immortal. We must have the immortal life here and now 
if we would have a rational hope to have it hereafter. This 
is my Easter morning message to you. 
Lyman Abbott in a sermon preached at Cornell University 
on an Easter Sunday 



Easter 



T ^ rHEN in the starry gloom 

* * They sought the Lord Christ's tomb, 
Two angels stood in sight 
All dressed in burning white 
Who unto the women said: 
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 

245 



The Book of Easter 

His life, his hope, his heart, 

With death they had no part; 

For this those words of scorn 

First heard that holy morn, 

When the waiting angels said: 

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 

O ye of this latter day, 

Who journey the selfsame way — 

Through morning's twilight gloom 

Back to the shadowy tomb — 

To you, as to them, was it said: 

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 

The Lord is risen indeed, 

He is here for your love, for your need — 

Not in the grave, nor the sky, 

But here where men live and die; 

And true the word that was said: 

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 

Wherever are tears and sighs, 

Wherever are children's eyes, 

Where man calls man his brother, 

And loves as himself another, 

Christ lives ! The angels said : 

"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 

Richard Watson Gilder 
By permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. 



246 



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